Animals
by HigherMagic
Summary: AU. Angel!Dean, Demon!Sam. '"I may have…bought a new housemate today," he said, slightly sheepish, and Azazel's eyes lit up in delight. He'd been pestering for Alistair to buy a Demon for months.' Slash, Het, DSM, Wing-porn. Sam/Cas/Dean at the end.
1. Chapter 1

**Animals**

**Rating: R**

**Pairings: Human!Azazel/Human!Alistair, Angel!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Anna (Mating), Dean/Michael (Dub-con), Sam/Dean/Castiel (Final Relationship). Mentions of Dean/Castiel and Sam/Ruby.**

**Warnings: Animal-like interactions, Wing-porn, Rough sex, Dub-con/Non-con (There's a boundary between them somewhere), Language, DSM sort of dynamics, Violence.**

**Summary: "I may have…bought a new housemate today," he said, slightly sheepish, and Azazel's eyes lit up in delight. He'd been pestering for Alistair to buy a Demon for months, worried that leaving Sam alone all day couldn't be good for him and that if Alistair bought a female they could always breed them and make more money. Azazel by no means saw Sam as just a stud, but if it helped then why not, you know?**

**Disclaimers: Nothing is owned. I may be convinced into selling my soul for creative rights, however. (:**

"Honey, I'm home!"

Alistair opened the door quietly, calling out into the seemingly-empty two-bedroom apartment as he did so. He tossed his keys onto the side table, sliding his jacket off and closing the door behind him, shaking off the rain from his umbrella into the bucket by the door, placed there specifically for that purpose; Alistair hated getting rain on his floors – it damaged them too much after a while. "You here?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Yeah, just a sec…" The sound of his roommate/lover's voice drifted in from the kitchen, and Alistair followed the wall to where it broke off, cutting off the room at waist height, a doorway to the kitchen created by a small pillar about six feet to the left, so the kitchen could look out into the living room and dining room. He leant on the counter, grinning easily at Azazel as the man wiped grease off his fingers onto his jeans, flipping over the slices of bacon to cook on the other side. Azazel loved bacon, took it to the nth degree, like some sort of weird fetish. He'd eat the stuff morning, noon and night if Alistair let him.

Perched behind Azazel was Sam, his Demon. Sam had been Azazel's companion since childhood – for the human, at least. Sam was about twelve years old by human years, but because Demons aged so quickly he had the appearance of about a twenty year old. He'd stay that way until Azazel died of old age, and he'd die too. Demons were weird like that – if their Master died of natural causes then so did they, but if their Master's life was taken unnaturally then they lived on, to be sold again or sent to a stud farm to breed.

Sam himself was quite sought after for breeding purposes. Already he'd fathered several high-pedigree Demon kids with various dams, and it brought in quite a lot of money; enough for Alistair to pursue his passion of photography and not have to worry about bringing in a paycheck. Azazel himself lived as a salesman for some big-name corporate building, doing something that involved cubicles and assistants and bored Alistair to no end. He didn't understand how someone with so much vibrancy and personality like Azazel could stand to work in such a grey, monochrome job.

Azazel turned off the heat, setting the cooling pan to one side as he scooped off the bacon onto a plate, with a napkin laid on top to soak up the grease. Alistair wrinkled his nose just a little – he was a vegetarian himself. Well, he hadn't always been, but for one piece of portfolio work he'd visited a slaughterhouse. Never touched a piece of meat again.

"Sam, say 'Hello' to Alistair," he muttered absently, munching on the first strip of bacon despite the fact that it must still be burning-hot. Sam blinked once, docilely, before jumping off the kitchen island, silent as the grave. He took one step forward before he stopped suddenly, eyes turning flat-black as opposed to their normal hazel. Immediately he assumed a defensive stance, angling himself between Azazel and the doorway to the kitchen, hissing. Alistair couldn't help imagining a puffed-up alley cat, trying to scare away a threat, ears flat back.

Alistair was used to this sort of thing. Not to this severity, but the same general dislike. Demons were very territorial creatures, and this extended to their Masters. Sam didn't like sharing Azazel with Alistair, which was completely understandable – it was an animal instinct – but he'd never been so obviously hostile. Not since the first week he'd been brought home when Azazel had moved in and Alistair had clearly established his dominance in the house.

"Sammy, what's wrong?" Azazel asked, frowning in concern as he stepped up beside his Demon, scratching lightly at the nape of Sam's neck. Slowly the inky blackness of Sam's eyes faded and he relaxed, shifting backward just a little, but his hands were still curled into fists, his glare focused somewhere behind the wall separating the kitchen and the living room. "Alistair?" His lover's eyes moved from the Demon to him, and Alistair smiled.

"I may have…bought a new housemate today," he said, slightly sheepish, and Azazel's eyes lit up in delight. He'd been pestering for Alistair to buy a Demon for months, worried that leaving Sam alone all day couldn't be good for him and that if Alistair bought a female they could always breed them and make more money. Azazel by no means saw Sam as just a stud, but if it helped then why not, you know? 'Besides,' Azazel would always say, 'they make your lives so much easier and it's nice to know someone's watching your back like that.'

Apparently humans don't count.

"Really? Can I see her?"

"It's not a 'her', and…" Alistair paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not a Demon."

"What?" Azazel quickly crossed into the living room, confused and little suspicious, and stopped in the entry way when Sam hissed again. It was too late though; he saw the figure standing, silent and still, next to the coats. "Oh, God, you didn't…"

Plain as day, there he stood. He was tall, just over six foot, well-built and obviously in good health. He looked to be about seventeen, by his species' standards. Old enough to look in his late twenties in human years. His eyes were bright green, glowing with the inner light of Grace and two sleek, jet black wings curved down his back, stopping just above touching the hardwood floor. He stood perfectly still but seemed at ease, cocky almost, arms folded across his chest, weight resting on one leg, and unlike most young creatures he met Azazel's eyes head-on, no preamble. On anything else like him it might seem disrespectful, but on him it just seemed…calculating. Like sizing up an enemy and making sure they weren't a threat. The way the creature's eyes kept flicking to Alistair, then back at Azazel, then through the wall as though he could see Sam through it, his fingers flexing to dig just a little into his arm, it was clear that he was making sure that his new Master was safe, was obviously ready to jump into action at the slightest provocation.

There was a dull silver collar around his neck, inscribed with carvings and sigils in Enochian and Latin that would restrict his powers. Sam wore a similar band around his wrist. Azazel didn't need to look to know that there would be a bright chain of silver down his back, able to be attached or detached from the collar, which would wind itself around the spine and restrict the use of his wings, so that he could move them, but not lift them high enough to fly properly or easily.

His eyes were bright with intelligence. As intelligent as things like that can get.

"An Angel," Azazel stated flatly. "You bought a fucking Angel." He turned to look at Alistair, anger clear on his face, and although the Angel didn't move much, he shifted his weight and that was about as clear a sign of aggression as pulling out a gun or knife. It made Azazel pause before taking a step back, clearly showing the Angel he meant no harm to its Master; he'd known what Sam was like when first bought; so overprotective, and although he hated to admit it, he knew Angels were more powerful than Demons. "What the hell? You know what happens when an Angel and a Demon are in the same house. They'll kill each other!"

"Or they won't," Alistair replied calmly, pushing himself up from where he'd been leaning on the counter. "Look, with that collar on he can't kill Sam, not like an Angel can, and what can I say? I have a thing for wings. You wanted me to buy a companion, well there he is." He rolled up the sleeve of his button-down, exposing the underside of his arm and wrist. There was a black tattoo inked into the fleshier part of his hand, where the thumb began to break away. It was the binding symbol, unique to every Angel and human pair; if the Master touched it with a specific intent then the Angel would sense it and obey; if anyone else touched it, or if it was touched in panic or fear the Angel would feel compelled to help and protect its Master, no matter where the Master was or what the cost might be. "And with this I can make sure he behaves. I'm sure you can convince Sam to do the same. Eventually they'll get used to each other and it'll be fine."

Azazel bit his lip, unsure. Of course, he trusted Alistair knew what he was talking about; for another project of his Alistair had done extensive research into the behaviors and familial and hierarchal structures of both Angels and Demons, but still…having two in such close quarters had never ended well for the breeders who tried, and because they were two males Azazel assumed that they were likely to be more dominant and territorial over each other.

Still, it was worth a shot. At least Alistair had bought a companion; Azazel would feel better about him being out on the streets at all hours now – they lived in a pretty bad neighborhood and having an Angel on your shoulder was definitely not high in the list of worst things.

"Alright, but if this goes south you're taking him back, is that understood?"

"Sure thing," Alistair replied, with the easy smile of someone who knows they're going to get away with whatever, because you love them and everyone knows they hold the reins in this relationship so really any sense of bravado you might have is negated by the reality that you both know they'll do whatever the hell they want and you'll just go along with it.

That was a really long way to describe a smile. Sorry.

"Dean?" The Angel's head snapped up, bright eyes landing on Alistair as the Angel straightened. His wings flexed a little behind him, balancing subconsciously and his arms unfolded, hanging loosely by his sides. "Follow me."

Wordlessly – of course; Angels and Demons couldn't speak the human tongue, although there were researchers who theorized that both species were fluent in Enochian and Latin within their groups – Dean nodded and fell into step behind Alistair, where the man was leading him towards the second bedroom, Dean halted when he heard a low, aggressive growl. The Angel turned, eyes flashing bright white for a moment when he saw the Demon and he bared his teeth, crouching just a little in preparation for a fight. Like cats and dogs, Angels and Demons had an inbred hatred for one another, almost to the point where they had to be kept separate in holding centers and in the streets, otherwise they would very easily attack each other without cause. Azazel had had a good right to be worried.

Sam stalked forward, eyes flat black again to match Dean's white, Alistair turning to watch the exchange, see what they would do. Azazel moved to get between them, but was stopped by a look from his lover; they'd wait, and see. Who knows what could happen?

Sam and Dean approached each other like two wild animals, crossing into each other's territory. Dean knew, of course, that he was the encroacher, the one who was coming into Sam's space, but Alistair was _his _Master and he was the dominant one, so surely that elevated Dean's status?

The Demon was pouring aggression into his system, baring his teeth in a quiet snarl as he crept closer, the both of them now almost touching. Dean's own scent was aggressive, dominant to match the Demon's, and like wild horses they inhaled each other's scents, to sort out amongst themselves who was the submissive of the two.

Obviously there was something Sam didn't like, for he growled and lashed out at Dean, who parried the blow expertly and growled back, pushing Sam away so there was more distance between them. Then they shifted towards each other again, taking another inhale, to see if the other was willing to admit defeat. No such luck. Sam pressed forward, forcing the Angel to back into the kitchen island in the centre of the room, his wings pinned tightly to his sides to avoid crushing them with his body. Sam purred lightly, obviously finding this position more pleasing to him, and Dean answered with a growl of displeasure.

"Are they meant to be interacting like this?" Azazel's soft whisper carried across the room.

"Apparently so. The breeder I bought Dean from said that there may be a few instances like this where it seems like they're fighting, and sniffing at each other and stuff like that. They're trying to establish the hierarchy. They're not at each other's throats, so something must be happening."

Sam leant down, his hands on Dean's hips to stop the Angel pulling away as he nudged at Dean's jaw and neck with his nose, trying to get the Angel to bare his throat to him. Dean snarled loudly, his wings flaring out to the sides and he turned his head, biting at Sam's jaw harshly, forcing the Demon to pull his head away with a sound of pained surprise. Dean followed his hard bite with softer nips, forcing Sam's head to move up every time it tried to come back down again. The interaction reminded Azazel distinctly of two stallions in a herd, with the way Sam repeatedly kept inhaling the scent of the Angel, and kept being forced away. Actually, it was less like two stallions and more like one, close to a mare in season and taking in her scent.

"How often are Angel mating seasons?" he asked, worried that Sam might be smelling Dean's pheromones and mistaking him for a Demon female – because, you know, Demons can be stupid like that. Sam purred again, brushing his nose along Dean's neck, inhaling deeply and pressing his body more insistently against the Angel's, his pleased noise growing louder when Dean finally relented, baring his throat for the Demon to mark as Sam bit down, hard enough to bruise, right over Dean's pulse. As soon as he had he pulled away with a parting nip and moved out of the room, towards Azazel and Alistair's bedroom. Dean, too, seemed unflustered, merely straightened and moved to Alistair's side again, like nothing had happened between then and when he'd been following the man to the other room. Azazel frowned, reminded of just how different Angel, Demon and human interactions were. To humans that scene would have been seen as foreplay, most definitely.

Alistair considered Dean for a moment, taking in the bite on his neck, the color of his eyes – which had faded back to green when he'd submitted to Sam and shrugged. "Apparently every three months. But no one in this apartment building has another Angel so we don't have to worry about him getting out or something."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Azazel replied, frowning slightly. "If Sam smells Dean in heat – or vice versa – they might do something. They're not exactly smart enough to distinguish different breeds or anything."

"What are you worried about? It's not like they can procreate." Alistair's voice was clearly amused, so obviously less concerned about the consequences of the two creatures fucking each other when mating season comes around.

Azazel rolled his eyes, his voice the epitome of 'Duh'. "They're territorial, love. What happens if we put Sam out to stud and he comes back smelling like a Demon bitch, and Dean gets aggressive? Or if you decide to breed Dean? If they're sleeping together they won't be happy."

"You're acting like they're actually smart enough for that. They're animals, Z. In the animal kingdom females are always shared around and fought over and everything. Besides, I don't intend to breed him just yet; he's never been put out to stud before and I want to give him a little bit of time to settle, you know?"

Azazel cocked his head curiously as his lover, slight smile on his face. "You're so weird," he said, shaking his head in fond amusement.

"But you love me anyway."

* * *

**Author's Note: This started out as a dream, if you can believe it. Angel!Dean/Demon!Sam? Hells yeah. I just loved it so much, and it was about a week's worth, so not bad. There's seven chapters in this verse; it's already completed, and there will be no delays in my other writing, for those of you who are waiting for More than Strangers or Rowan Winchester Part Two. Don't fear; I'm not lagging behind my schedule, and I'm almost out for the holidays. Yay. (:**

**Much loves. Review if you feel generous and want to give me love.**

**HigherMagic x  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Animals**

**Rating: R**

**Pairings: Human!Azazel/Human!Alistair, Angel!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Anna (Mating), Dean/Michael (Dub-con), Sam/Dean/Castiel (Final Relationship). Mentions of Dean/Castiel and Sam/Ruby.**

**Warnings: Animal-like interactions, Wing-porn, Rough sex, Dub-con/Non-con (There's a boundary between them somewhere), Language, DSM sort of dynamics, Violence.**

**Summary: "I may have…bought a new housemate today," he said, slightly sheepish, and Azazel's eyes lit up in delight. He'd been pestering for Alistair to buy a Demon for months, worried that leaving Sam alone all day couldn't be good for him and that if Alistair bought a female they could always breed them and make more money. Azazel by no means saw Sam as just a stud, but if it helped then why not, you know?**

**Disclaimers: Nothing is owned. I may be convinced into selling my soul for creative rights, however. (:**

It was quickly agreed on that while Dean had accepted Sam as the dominant in that first meeting; the argument was far from over.

To be honest, the Angel was a bit of a bully.

Whenever Azazel got home he would always relax in front of the television for an hour or so, watching the news or, if it happened to be on, his favorite soap or comedy show. During this hour or so of relaxation Sam always curled up on the giant leather couch with his Master, purring like a contented cat as Azazel would stroke a hand through his hair or tickle his flank, grinning when his Demon hissed and swatted at him playfully.

However, with Dean in the house now too, that agreement wasn't so simple. Alistair had quickly managed to make sure Dean behaved, always ready to touch his tattoo and make sure Dean got the message. But when his Master wasn't home Dean was always restless, moving around the house, jumping onto things. He never broke anything or knocked anything over, but it was sometimes creepy when Azazel walked into the room to see Dean perched on the very top of a bookshelf, wings splayed out either side of him along the ceiling like some creepy-ass hybrid of a spider and a bat. Occasionally the cause of this would be clear as Sam would be prowling around the bottom of the bookshelf, hissing whenever the Angel tried to move, until eventually it was that Dean just retired to that place whenever he wanted to be on his own, or something. Azazel had no idea how that could be comfortable, what with there being perhaps two feet of space between the shelf and the ceiling, but the Angel seemed happy enough so Azazel was content to leave him be.

But when Sam curled up on the couch next to Azazel Dean would jump down, and it was disconcerting how little noise his bare feet made, considering he fell like a stone and looked for all the world like he should have made a huge thump on landing. Maybe the wings helped.

He'd stalk over to the couch, leaning over the back of it. Angels gave Azazel the creeps – his family had always had Demons and he thought them to be smarter and more dependable than Angels, - and his hand would always tighten or slow down in Sam's hair, alert the Demon to his Master's uneasiness, and immediately Sam would turn so he was on his back, glaring up at Dean and he'd growl, either as a warning or a 'go away'. Dean, of course, would always ignore him.

Sometimes the Angel would poke Sam. Like, actually poke him, hard, in the sides, forcing the Demon to squirm and make himself comfortable, and each time Sam would settle Dean would poke him again. He reminded Azazel of a wolf cub, testing the waters in a pack, to see how much he could get away with from the Alpha. Sam wasn't the Alpha, of course, but Alistair wasn't here so he was, in Dean's eyes, the next dominant thing.

Eventually Sam would give up trying to get comfortable and get up from the couch, hissing his annoyance at Dean, who would smirk. It was such a human expression it was startling sometimes, how alike these things were to humans…except they acted like animals.

One such evening, Dean was going through his usual 'poke-Sam-until-he-moves' phase, when the Demon suddenly launched himself from the couch and crashed into Dean, sending the Angel to the floor. Dean's wings flared open in surprise, trying to stop his fall, but it was in vain as the heavy weight of the Demon fought and won, the two of them landing in a heap. Sam snarled at Dean, his hands buried in the Angel's wings and _clenching, _making Dean hiss in pain. The Angel pushed at Sam to force him away, but Sam was heavier and he had the position advantage, so he remained unmoving.

Azazel stood up in alarm, sure that the Demon would try and kill Dean, or that Dean would injure Sam, and he rounded the couch just in time for Dean to throw a punch, sending Sam flying. The Demon landed a few feet away, his grip tearing out a few feathers as he went and Dean let out a pained sound, but forced himself to his feet. Within seconds they were on each other again, clawing and biting. It was clear from the way Dean's collar began to glow that the Angel was trying to summon his Grace, to smite the Demon and kill him, but to no avail. Sam's own band around his wrist was pulsing faintly too, as he attempted to access his own powers.

Azazel had no idea what to do – to try and stop the two creatures fighting himself would be suicide. Even with their bindings they were still much more powerful than humans and could rip him apart if they wanted to. His attempts at calling Sam to back off weren't working; the Demon was obviously very focused on his battle with this supposed enemy, the one who was trying to challenge him in his own territory.

Dean fought well, for an Angel his age – they matured less quickly than Demons, and were often perceived as weaker until they reached full maturity – and managed to land a few blows to Sam's face and ribs. Azazel thought he heard a crack, and though he knew the Demon could heal himself he still worried. At a loss of what else to do he called Alistair, hoping that maybe if he could get his Angel to stop fighting, Sam would too.

"What's going on?" Alistair answered on the fourth ring, immediately alerted by the sounds of growling and fighting going on in the background. "Everything okay?"

"No, everything is not okay. Your Angel and my Demon are fighting. Like, really going at it. Sam won't listen to me if Dean keeps attacking. I need you to call him off."

"Alright, just a minute." Alistair hung up and Azazel followed suit, watching warily from the kitchen's opening as, just like that, Dean stopped his aggressive attack on Sam. He just…stopped. Alistair must have sent a pretty powerful order his way, because the Angel dropped to the floor immediately, a pained whimper leaving him as he pinned his wings to his back, curling in on himself, the white glow of his eyes fading back to green. Sam stopped also, cautious, warily eyeing his supposed enemy before he inhaled deeply, eyes flashing periodically from hazel to black and back again.

Sam made a low sound in the back of his throat, cocking his head at Dean, querying. The Angel's wings shook slightly; unfurling out behind him and Dean laid them behind him on the floor, his eyes focused very pointedly on the wood beneath Sam's feet. The Demon stepped forward, invading Dean's space, and the Angel flinched away, whimpering again.

Azazel watched, fascinated as, very slowly, Sam knelt in front of Dean, on his hands and knees so their faces were level. The Demon nudged against the Angel's knee, then his forehead, their eyes focused on each other as, carefully, Dean uncurled a little. His eyes slid closed when Sam nuzzled him, purring as Dean tilted his head to one side, baring his throat again and exposing the mark left by the Demon. Strange – it should have healed up by now. Sam sank his teeth into the pale skin of the Angel's neck, and the creature didn't flinch, not even when Sam broke skin and drank down a little bit of Dean's blood.

Sam braced his hands on Dean's knees, forcing the Angel's legs to spread and extend, so Sam was kneeling between them. His mouth left Dean's neck, lips and chin smeared in blood as he nuzzled Dean's cheek, temple, and forehead and breathed in the scent of him again, smelling his submission, that ever-present purr getting louder until it seemed to rumble in his chest. When Sam bumped his nose against Dean's jaw, leaning forward and pushing the Angel backward, Dean mewled gently, hands gripping Sam's upper arms and slid his body on the floor, so he was lying directly underneath Sam. The Demon's hands moved to the floor on either side of the Angel's ribs, brushing their cheeks and noses together affectionately, the both of them letting out pleased little sounds now, as though they had finally come to an agreement and were both perfectly okay with it.

Sam licked at Dean's bite wound, almost as an apology, it seemed, and the way the Angel bared his throat again, inviting, made it seem like he didn't mind one bit. Sam ran a hand slowly down Dean's flank, petting him like Azazel did and Dean smiled up at him.

When Sam's hand found one of Dean's wings again the Angel mewled, shying away. Sam's hand came back with a few droplets of blood, coming out where the feathers had been ripped. Azazel would have to talk to Alistair about keeping those clean while they healed – Angels and Demons could still get infections, even though they healed quickly. The Demon licked at his hand, wiping away the Angel blood and settled instead for nuzzling at Dean's throat again, stroking down his sides.

Dean mewled softly, hands threading themselves into Sam's shaggy hair, petting him like the Demon was touching his wings. The Angel's body arched, his neck bared, muscles straining as he pushed his hips up again, gripping Sam between his thighs, the both of them letting out low groans when their bodies brushed together.

Azazel had seen instances of Angels and Demons interacting with their own species, grooming and fighting and establishing their hierarchy with each other, but he'd never seen it this close and personal before. And it was...well, there's only one way to describe it; _hot. _

Which is creepy, because he's getting off on what is essentially animals grooming each other. That's just wrong.

But still…_hot. _

Azazel was broken out of his reverie by the kitchen phone ringing, and left the still-kind-of-making-out-creatures to answer it. "Hello?" he said, and yes; he was a little breathless. Sue him.

"Did it work?" Alistair asked, sounding equally out of breath as though he had been running.

"Hell yeah it did. What did you tell him to do?"

"To submit, because the patriarch was angry."

Azazel almost laughed. Yeah, he had submitted alright. "Can you come home now?" he asked, chancing a look back into the living room and, yes, they were still going at it with their weird grooming, so close to being just two (very attractive) humans making out that it couldn't _not _be erotic if it tried. "I…just come home?"

Alistair laughed, almost like he knew exactly how Azazel was feeling. Smug know-it-all bastard. "Yeah, be there in ten."

* * *

The first real problem came about two weeks later.

Sam and Dean had finally managed to establish where the other stood in the family role, and that suited Azazel and Alistair just fine. Anything that meant they weren't fighting anymore, because believe you me watching an Angel and Demon go for the kill is just freaking scary, like having two tigers fighting right next to you.

Alistair drew from his knowledge of Angel and Demon behaviors to try and explain what exactly Sam and Dean had been doing that day. "It's essentially grooming," he said, grinning at Azazel as they both came down from what had been very awesome, hard-deep-fast sex, after Azazel had practically ordered Alistair home. He curled up into the body of his lover, chest to back as Alistair rested an arm around his torso, hand rubbing along his ribs and stomach as he whispered the words in Azazel's ear; "Demons are a lot like cats, so Sam will be grooming Dean by touching him like that, petting him and taking in his scent all the time. Angels, as far as I understand, develop relationships through their wings and with their Grace. Obviously with the collar on Dean will have to improvise; I think he's following Sam's lead so far with the grooming."

And yeah, talking about this should _not _be hot, but God help Azazel, it is. Kinky son of a bitch. "So they'll be doing that sort of thing all the time?" he asked, and failed miserably at keeping the excitement out of his voice.

Alistair smirked. "Never figured you as one for beastiality, but yes, basically. Especially after fights, if they have any more like that big one. Angels are very communal creatures; there are Flocks that can get into the hundreds. They're bred to have close interactions with their family units, so Dean won't like discord in the house. Sam might have sensed that and tried to calm Dean down by grooming him. We can always go to the breeder's and ask him about it."

"I think that'd be a good idea. Sometimes it's hard to tell when they're just in a spat or if there's really something wrong. I've never had an Angel in the house before."

Sam and Dean calmed down considerably after that fight, more inclined to touch each other or curl up together on the bed in the second bedroom, as opposed to Dean sleeping alone and Sam sleeping at the end of Azazel and Alistair's bed, as he was want to do. Instead of swapping glares with each other, the two of them would always smile and nudge each other like old friends when either of them – Sam – had been out for any period of time. Alistair bought some sort of Angel version of Neosporin for Dean's wings to prevent infection, and once they'd healed Sam took immediately to stroking them, running his fingers and nose through the soft feathers. The way Dean reacted Azazel _had _to think it was some sort of sexual thing, but Alistair assured him it was still just grooming.

Azazel wasn't convinced. So he went to the breeder and asked his opinion.

* * *

"Well, if I'da known you already had a Demon in the house I wouldn't have sold you the Angel," the man said, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead and taking with it the baseball cap he wore, that looked like it hadn't seen anyone else's head in decades. His nametag read 'Bobby', and he owned one of the biggest breeding facilities for both Angels and Demons in the Northern US. Lots of land and vigilant guards as well as well-built facilities meant that the Angels and Demons were kept separate very well, and people could always expect a fine pedigree when they bought kids and fledglings from 'Singer's'.

Azazel sighed. "Yes, well it's done now. They seem to have come to some sort of truce, but I'm worried. They seem…too close. I mean, my partner just says it's grooming but…is it always so sexual?" It should be awkward asking a near-stranger something like that, but Azazel was nothing if not candid.

Bobby grinned, replacing the baseball cap on his head. "Well, Demons do tend to be a bit more carnal in their grooming than Angels are, because an Angel's wings are so sensitive. Is the Demon a female? She may be in heat and that could be why she's being so affectionate."

"No. Sam is a male."

"I see…" Bobby scratched the top of his head through his cap, frowning in thought. "Are there any other Demons or Angels in your apartment building?"

Azazel nodded. "A woman upstairs owns a Demon bitch, who I believe is coming into heat soon. She called us because she wanted to put Ruby out for covering and requested Sam. But I'm worried; Sam and Dean are so close, won't Dean get territorial if we try and breed them?"

"There is a possibility," Bobby conceded, nodding his bearded head sagely. "But I'm more worried about when Dean goes into season."

"Male Angels go into season?" Azazel asked, surprised.

"'Course they do; otherwise the females wouldn't mate with them. Angelic society is very matriarchal – females mate with males based on their display, their scent and so on. There's only a few dominant males recorded in history, and Dean's no Archangel. When he does go into season I would keep him away from your Demon, but that's only cautionary. And breeding him out shouldn't be a problem. If it is, though, bring them both to me and I'll see if I can sort them out."

"Thanks, Bobby," Azazel said with a grin, feeling a little better about it. Sure, it was almost exactly what Alistair had been telling him but _still, _it felt better knowing it had come from a professional. "But why should I keep them separate? It's not like they can procreate." He knew Alistair would ask this, so he figured he'd get it out of the way beforehand.

Bobby gave him a curious look, cocking his head to one side. "Male Angels are capable of carrying young, and they're capable of making other males carry young. Half-breeds are dangerous, sir, and I'd make sure you don't make any by keeping them separate during Dean's season."

* * *

This order was a lot easier given than carried out.

Sure, with dogs and cats you lock them away in a different room or send one of them out of the house, or get them fixed or something. But that's a little difficult when your animals possess both opposable thumbs and _the ability to unlock doors with their minds. _And of course Azazel and Alistair wouldn't get Sam or Dean fixed because they were for breeding…so really there was only one thing they could do; send one of them away.

Except that idea backfired horribly.

Alistair had noticed it first; Sam was always affectionate towards Dean, smelling him or stroking his wings or giving him a bite on the neck and jaw, but he still always, _always_, curled up with Azazel when his Master was on the couch, no matter what time of day it was or where he had been in the house beforehand. When Alistair had come home to see Azazel sitting on the couch alone, Sam sleeping very happily in his and Dean's room, cocooned in the Angel's wings, he'd known that something had to be done.

They tried keeping Sam and Dean in separate rooms, but that didn't work as within the hour they would have found some way to get back to each other again. Azazel strongly suspected that they were smart enough to figure out that if Sam opened the main living room window Dean could fly (or at least scale the building or hover or whatever the hell he did) in and out of it from where they locked him in his room. It didn't seem to matter that it didn't even open far enough to fit a grown man; Dean was like a rat. He could get in anywhere if he set his mind to it.

Alistair tried ordering Dean away using his tattoo, to not touch Sam, but that ended when Azazel had had to bear witness to a scene that shouldn't have been so heartbreaking, but it was; Sam had been trying to groom Dean, to invite Dean to groom him and the Angel kept shying away, whimpering as though he really didn't want to, and Sam pursuing him until, looking _pained, _Dean would fly up to perch on the bookshelf, and refuse to come down until Sam had fallen asleep.

Azazel couldn't bear watching that again; the dejection on his Demon's face and the regret in Dean's, so desperate but unwilling to disobey his Master. Animals shouldn't be so emotive, but they are and it's unbearable to watch.

So they settled for a real separation. They agreed it would be better to send Sam away, because Sam was used to leaving for periods of time and they arranged for Sam and Ruby to be put together to breed. Luckily Demons suffered no such qualms about mating as Angels did; if a male smells a female in heat they are compelled to mate, so there shouldn't have been much of a problem.

* * *

Except that didn't really work either. First of all, Sam refused to leave.

It was like he _knew._ He had been able to smell Ruby for _days, _but he had _Dean, _and an Angel's heat is so much more potent than a Demon's, especially in one with such fine breeding already. Sam could smell Dean's potential as a mate even without him being in season, and Sam didn't want to leave. He had established his hierarchy now and it would be like taking the lead stallion from a herd. At first he steadfastly refused to listen to Azazel, perched side-on in front of Dean and growling whenever either of them came too close, until Azazel finally had to grab his leash – something he hadn't had to use on Sam in _years_.

Sam recoiled from the thing, pushing Dean further into the wall, his eyes going black as he tossed his head, growling in aggression. He lashed out in warning if Azazel tried to approach him.

Finally Alistair took the initiative, after a solid two hours of trying to leash Sam. He rolled up his sleeve and pressed down on the tattoo, urging Dean to come over. Dean let out a pained sound, but moved from behind Sam; wings pressed tightly to his back and he forced himself forward. Sam growled again, halting Dean's steps for a half second before Alistair sent the thought again. There was a moment of indecision, desire to stay clearly warring with the need to go, before Alistair found himself standing in front of a kneeling Angel. Dean's sleek wings shook slightly and _damn it, _Alistair should _not _be doing little 'aww' noises and thinking about giving Dean a treat for being so good. Angels were companions, not house-pets, damn it.

Still, he couldn't resist a small 'Good boy' and a hand resting on Dean's head. The Angel tensed for a moment; Alistair was a good, if unaffectionate Master and to be honest Dean had been unused to being touched, aside from Sam. That would have to be rectified during Sam's absence.

Sam whined, black eyes shifting between Dean and Azazel, looking for some reassurance from his Master. Azazel was, fortunately, much quicker on the uptake than Alistair. He was kneeling in front of Sam within a second, attaching his leash quickly to a thin band that slipped over his head, shushing him all the while.

"It's alright, Sammy, you'll be back and you'll see him again, alright? We're just going out for a while…" And although he knew there was no way Sam could understand him, Azazel kept talking, one hand petting through his Demon's hair gently, scratching at the nape of his neck until Sam's trembling quieted. "There you go…such a good boy, aren't you, Sammy? Yes you are…so good…" Azazel cooed, smiling when Sam nuzzled his wrist lightly, smiling a little at his Master. "Alright, you calm now? Come on, come with me…" He straightened, tugged lightly on Sam's leash and smiled when the Demon stood in one fluid movement. "Let's go see Ruby, 'kay?" He kept up his inane little ramblings out the door, leaving Alistair and Dean alone in the apartment.

"I think," Alistair announced after a few minutes of silence, his hand knotting in Dean's hair and forcing the Angel to tilt his head up, "that it's time we put you up for breeding."


	3. Chapter 3

**Animals**

**Rating: R**

**Pairings: Human!Azazel/Human!Alistair, Angel!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Anna (Mating), Dean/Michael (Dub-con), Sam/Dean/Castiel (Final Relationship). Mentions of Dean/Castiel and Sam/Ruby.**

**Warnings: Animal-like interactions, Wing-porn, Rough sex, Dub-con/Non-con (There's a boundary between them somewhere), Language, DSM sort of dynamics, Violence.**

**Summary: "I may have…bought a new housemate today," he said, slightly sheepish, and Azazel's eyes lit up in delight. He'd been pestering for Alistair to buy a Demon for months, worried that leaving Sam alone all day couldn't be good for him and that if Alistair bought a female they could always breed them and make more money. Azazel by no means saw Sam as just a stud, but if it helped then why not, you know?**

**Disclaimers: Nothing is owned. I may be convinced into selling my soul for creative rights, however. (:**

Finding a breeder who needed an Angel stud wasn't difficult. In fact, it was kind of as simple as looking into the phone book and seeing who wanted what. There was one, a breeding and training centre run by a man named Zachariah Adler, that wasn't far from where Alistair lived, and after a quick call with Azazel (who'd chosen to stay with Sam the first night he was with Ruby, in some motel room they'd rented for the occasion) Alistair hooked the leash to Dean's collar, ordering the Angel to follow him.

Dean hadn't been allowed outside much since he was brought home, almost three weeks ago. And now Alistair was starting to feel a little nervous. Not just because Dean was unexposed to the outside, but also because if what Bobby had said was true, Dean would be a beacon right now of sexual energy, and Alistair knew a few neighbors who owned Demons that he did _not _want Dean around right then.

Still, it had to be done, and so quickly he led Dean to his black Jeep, dropping the leash so that Dean could clamber inside. The Angel stretched his body out as much as he could in the backseat, pleased at the lack of annoying seat buckles or armrests to dig into his sides, his wings flexing behind him, testing the space before they came to rest on his back. He let out a pleased little mewl, settling into the soft almost-leather-but-not-quite of the seat, his back to Alistair. One of his wings relaxed completely, falling into the foot-well, the other draping around him like a blanket.

Alistair didn't figure himself the type to get involved with semantics or anything, but still, that sight was pretty damn adorable. Smiling, he gently ran a hand through Dean's hair as he started up the engine, his smile widening when Dean pressed into the touch, shifting slightly and purring, in a very good impression of Sam.

The drive to Zachariah's wasn't long, but it was winding, back in the middle of East Jesus Nowhere. He was able to see it a long way coming, though; there was a giant dome built around a square brick building. Alistair thought it was made of glass, but as he approached it turned out that the dome was simply rope, crisscrossed in perfect squares about a foot wide that were attached to steel bars, curving upwards towards the top to keep the shape where they met in an eight-point star. Within the confines of the dome Alistair could see dozens and dozens of Angels, perched on a tree that had been planted, and grown until it almost reached the top of the dome; or swinging from various frames and structures made of steel and wood. It reminded Alistair of giant monkey cages at the zoo, except for the giant wings coming out of each and every one of them, and the occasional flash of white eyes when they had a disagreement.

As he pulled up to the outside of the dome a man stepped forward, cocking his head to one side for a moment before Alistair opened the door and let Dean out – then his eyes brightened in understanding. "Mister Adler is expecting you," was all he said, before punching in a six-digit code and allowing the two through with a smile that seemed rather forced.

Alistair didn't like the way he looked at Dean.

Not sure what else to do, Alistair walked up to the brick building, his eyes warily set on all the Angels. A few of them were watching him, their heads tilted and occasionally one would make a sound of interest, but the rest of the focus was on Dean. Alistair could practically sense them smelling him, and the thought made him slightly uncomfortable. When he looked behind him Dean was gazing back at the Angels, wings flexing behind him, expression defiant, aggressive, daring them to come closer. Alistair grinned; _that's my boy._

Angel.

Thing.

Whatever.

Zachariah came out immediately to greet them when they approached the building. "Ah, Mister Masters, I'm so glad you could make it. Come inside, come inside, sit down and we'll discuss business, shall we?" He slapped his hands together, rubbing them vigorously as he motioned Alistair inside. When Dean tried to follow Zachariah stopped him. "Now you just wait out here with the Angels, alright?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, he's already -."

"Gone into season, I know, but not to worry. My Angels are very well behaved and if you order Dean not to do something, he won't. That's what the tattoo's for, eh?" Zachariah winked, and Alistair didn't even get a chance to respond before he turned Dean around, unhooking the fastening between the collar and the chain that prevented Dean from flying. "There we go, now he can go interact while we talk. That alright with you?" He hooked an arm around Alistair's shoulders, dragging him inside. "Fantastic, well I was thinking that…"

The rest of the words were lost as the door slammed shut, leaving Dean standing there, looking a little lost. He flexed his wings, extending them, eyes widening when he found he _could_. His jet black wings flared out to their full span – which was almost fourteen feet, quite large for his age – and pushed down _hard. _Leaping into the air he flapped them again, gaining height quickly, grinning at the feeling of being able to fly again – it had seemed like a lifetime ago he'd been in a facility much like this one, freely soaring until they put the collar on him.

Angels aren't collared until they're bought. That doesn't mean they aren't bound, though. Beneath where the collar rests all of them will have a sigil inscribed on their skin to keep their powers in check, as well as their intelligence, so that they don't revolt and kill all humans. There are human movements to try and free the Angels, but before any of them have been able to gain ground they'd been wiped out by the Hell Hound branch of the militia.

Dean found himself an unoccupied branch in the tree and sat, one leg swinging down beneath him as he leant against the tree trunk, the other curling up and held by his linked arms. A soft moan left him, feeling the rough bark dig into his sensitive spine and he shifted, trying to get more of that pressure between his wings, which fell down like velvet curtains around him.

It wasn't long before he was approached.

He sensed the shift in the air before he heard the sound of wing beats, and opened one eye to see a smaller male crouched a respectful distance away. He had bright blue eyes, messy black hair, and pale skin despite the amount of time he must be spending in the sun, since it seemed very likely that the Angels lived in the dome, exposed to the elements. He wore black dress pants and a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves and with the first few buttons undone, exposing teasing little glimpses of skin underneath. His wings were black, tinged _very _slightly with a silvery layer towards the tips, and pinned tightly to his back, unsure, hesitant. Dean took a moment to admire the color of the Angel's wings – the jet, matt black Dean possessed was exceedingly rare and very attractive, and this other male had almost the same tint, if a little lighter due to the silver sheen.

Dean snorted at the male's hesitant approach, a smirk on his face as he casually lifted one of his wings, brushing the very tip down the side of the other Angel's leg, and crossed his legs over at the ankle, arms folded over his chest; non-threatening, non-aggressive.

_Relax. _

The Angel glanced at him curiously, but did as he was told; his legs moved so they dangled in front of him, off the edge of the branch, his hands folded neatly in his lap, shoulders hunched. His wings moved around him to settle on the branch as well, close to where Dean's lay. Dean inhaled deeply, his eyes closing for the briefest moment, smelling the arousal and interest on the male in response to his heat, as well as that of several others who were sharing the tree with them, pretending not to watch the exchange.

Dean smirked a little, shifting his wings slightly, moaning lowly when the tough bark of the tree scratched his sensitive feathers, rubbing them the wrong way. He leaned his head back against the trunk, baring his throat and heard the other male's quick intake of breath. Dean's smirk widened, knowing he was essentially inviting the male to bite him, to claim him and mate with him, and the only reason he hadn't was the dark purple bruise already on Dean's neck, marking him as another's – which should have gone away by now. The only wounds an Angel keeps are the ones he wants to show.

Master had told him he couldn't mate. That didn't mean he couldn't play.

In a bold move, Dean lifted his right wing so that the shadow of it fell across the two Angels on the branch. The other male's bright blue eyes zeroed in on the giant black wing, lust sparking deep in his eyes as they darkened, and he visibly trembled when Dean's wing fell across his own, caressing it with more dexterity than really he ought to have been able to. Both Angels stifled moans behind clenched jaws as their Graces brushed against each other, white-hot and electric. Dean sent a thought across the tenuous bond; _Name? _

There was a quick response, more of a suggestion than an actual word. _Castiel. _The mental nudge reminded Dean of fresh rain and oceans. Accompanying the thought was a brief nudge from the Angel's wing, brushing against Dean's leg. _Yours?_

_Dean,_ he sent with a smile.

_Dean, Dean…_The Angelic equivalent of rolling a name on the tongue. Castiel cocked his head to one side, blue eyes bright and focused as he slid closer, daring. When he met no resistance from the larger male Castiel pushed into Dean's space, forcing the giant black wings to separate to allow him in and Dean's hands took a hold of Castiel's waist, drawing him closer until the smaller male was straddling Dean. The Angel let out a low purr in the back of his throat, nuzzling into Castiel's neck, forcing the male's head to one side so he could better get at his scent. Castiel smelled responsive, submissive despite the lack of heat in his scent and Dean smiled, his nose running up the flexing tendon in the Angel's neck, to place a light bite on the corner of his strong jaw. Castiel mewled, turning his head to try and return the nip, his wings curling around Dean and his hands digging into the larger male's forearms, pushing his hips down in invitation, when Dean suddenly felt a lightning strike of disapproval shoot through him. He gasped, pushing Castiel away suddenly when he felt Master's anger directed at him, a harsh order of '_Come to me Dean, _now_,' _resonating in his mind. Without thought he pushed himself out of the tree, barely letting his wings unfold in the aim to get down to the ground as quickly as possible.

He quickly spotted Master, standing outside with that other man in front of the building and flared his wings just a little, slowing his descent. He righted himself, landing feet first on the ground in front of Master's feet and kneeling, face pressed into Master's side. He didn't smell angry, merely nervous and slightly aroused – but to be honest that was normal with Master – and Dean calmed a little when Alistair ran a hand through Dean's hair, soothing him gently, telling him he wasn't mad and that he was a good boy for coming so quickly.

_Sorry, Master, so sorry…_Dean pressed with his Grace, settling a wing around Alistair's feet as he nuzzled into the human's side, eyes falling closed. The scent of arousal grew more potent as he did so and Dean purred, happy to have quelled Master's anger a little. One of Dean's hands moved up Alistair's thigh, towards where he burned hottest but the man pushed him away before he could get too close.

"Dean, stand up. We have someone for you to meet," Alistair growled, on the outside seeming terse and angry; Dean could hear the difference, though, and so smiled a little as he pushed himself to his feet in one fluid motion, wings sticking out behind him to balance. Alistair ran another hand through the Angel's hair before reattaching the collar to the chain around Dean's wings, fixing the leash to the front of it as well and led Dean out of the dome. Behind him Dean heard a soft protest, possibly from the male – Castiel – but he didn't have time to turn his head before Alistair led him out towards another building. There were five of them in a row, lined up to face the dome and made of some drab concrete. Single-storey, they looked like they were only one room also, and the scent of heat and sex permeated the air around them. Mating rooms.

Dean cocked his head curiously at Alistair for a moment, wondering why he'd been _taken away_ to mate when he would have been perfectly happy accepting that male's offer, but of course wouldn't question Master's orders. He wasn't smart enough for that.

Alistair unhooked his leash and chain when they approached the middle room, Zachariah pushing the door open with a lecherous smile. Dean hesitated, unnerved with the sudden scents hitting him; soap, some sort of cleanser, and a female Angel…Candles, flowers…He paused at the door, looking into the dim room cautiously while his eyes adjusted. Alistair sent a small nudge of encouragement and security Dean's way through their mental link and he relaxed, stepping into the room and allowing the door to close behind him.

"What if Anna doesn't respond to him?" Alistair asked, slightly worried that, due to Dean's relatively young age, the female may not take to him, and would attack him.

Zachariah shrugged. "Then they won't mate. Generally Angels are very…obvious with their disagreements. If there's any trouble my staff will see to it that he's not permanently injured."

Strangely enough, that didn't make Alistair feel any better, but he was content to wait and sip coffee and watch the other Angels fly around while he waited. 'Shouldn't be more than an hour' Adler had said. Well, they'd see.

* * *

Dean's wings were pinned tightly to his back, the only giveaway to his anxiety as his bright green eyes took in the room. There was a giant king-sized bed dominating the centre of it, covered in white and red striped patterns that reminded Dean of the candies humans ate during the colder months. The scent of candles was strong but he didn't see any, nor did he see the flowers he'd smelled earlier. The room had dark maroon walls but was unadorned with pictures, and the only light came in through a small window by the door, barely illuminating the room enough for humans to see by.

Sitting on the bed was a female. She was petite, a little on the too-slender side, with shoulder-length red hair and icy blue eyes, skin pale and almost glowing in the non-light of the room, naked. She was watching him with cold calculation, as females of his breed often did; sizing him up, deciding whether he would be a good mate.

He knew the procedure, of course; it was an instinct all of his kind shared. The display, the way to approach a female (or the carrier, in same sex pairs) and make his offer. But Dean would have rather stayed outside; this room felt oppressive, too small for his wings and the female's eyes were nothing like the warm blue of Castiel's outside. Her wings were a weird mix of red and tawny and white, to match the bedding, and while Dean found them attractive – she was quite pretty by his species' standards – they were no match for the rarer black outside.

Still, if a _female _was rejected then the results could be messy, and even as Dean stepped forward, the door shutting behind him and pushing his scent further into the room, she lifted her head, sniffing at the air. She cocked her head curiously to one side, eyes finally locking with his as she pushed herself to her feet, wings flaring out behind her for balance. Instinctively Dean copied her, his sleek raven wings unfurling and spreading just a little, giving her a show. He knew Master expected him to mate with this female and if it made Master happy then maybe he would get to go home sooner. That decided, Dean lifted his head up and to the side, baring the unmarked half of his skin to her, his wings curving forward and out just a little more, to let her see their size and strength. She stepped closer, keeping her wings away from his as she took another deep breath, smelling his season and made a pleased little sound when he deliberately knocked the top joint of his wing against her thigh, establishing intent. She smiled at him, crowing his space as her arms reached around him and her thin, delicate fingers found the base of his wings, digging in. There was still some bark left from the tree, and the added scratch-pain-friction made Dean gasp heavily, his head falling back. The female took the invitation for what it was, biting down at the muscle of where his neck met shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, accepting his offer to mate.

Dean quickly surrounded the female in his presence, learning when their wings brushed together that her name was Anna. _Anna…_ He learned it, but only as a fleeting fact. He picked up her smaller frame, one hand beneath her and the other brushing along her wing as he carried her to the bed, covering her with his larger, more muscular body when they lay down.

There was no time wasted between the Angels – there wouldn't be. Anna was already unclothed, and really for this to happen the only thing Dean needed to get rid of were his jeans, which were hastily shed and tossed away. The female's bite had caused his pulse to race, his cock hardening and filling in response to the instinctive, irresistible desire to mate, blood pounding loudly in his ears. She was already wet, responsive to his season and he thrust in, one hand soothing through her wings to combat any potential pain she might feel. Anna arched under him, purring whenever his fingers touched her wings and her own hands buried deep in his, causing Dean to growl low in his throat.

He set the pace slow, dragging but firm and hard, and willing to wait until the female was brought pleasure until he took his own. Anna was a writhing mess already, torn between the feeling of him moving inside of her and the electric current of his hands touching her wings, the manifestation of her Grace. Only when Dean's own wings settled down over hers, completely obscuring the red-white and the awful, ugly bedspread, did she come with an inarticulate shout as, Grace touching Grace, she was overwhelmed. Her muscles seized and clenched around Dean and the male took that as permission to start thrusting in earnest, to finish what they had started.

It didn't take long. Dean was, for all intents and purposes, a teenager, and he didn't see much point teasing himself when she had already come, and the sooner he finished this the sooner he could go home, or back outside. When Dean stilled and released inside of the female his wings folded back up, arching high over his back for a brief moment and obscuring the two Angels from whatever prying eyes there might be.

His body shook from the force of his orgasm, eyes shut tightly as he buried his face in her neck, his only thought being how angry Sam was going to be now. Dean bore Sam's mating mark, even if they had never gone far enough to really establish it; he was _Sam's. _He was almost Castiel's. He was not _hers. _

When he was finished he pulled out, nuzzling Anna gently on her neck for a moment, but not biting nor touching his lips to her. He pulled on the human clothes again after cleaning himself up and watched as she stretched, lazy and sweaty, and smiled over at him. He didn't return it. Dean couldn't explain how he was feeling, but if Angels had such a notion of post-sex-guilt, of cheating, then he would have used it.

* * *

Zachariah opened the door about fifteen minutes after the two Angels were done. Anna was curled up on the bed, one wing covering her body in preference to the bedspread. Dean sat a respectful distance away, hoping that it would make sure Master knew he had mated with her. Zachariah seemed to understand, as he beamed and let Alistair in with his leash.

"Heya Dean," Alistair murmured, attaching the leash to Dean's collar and the Angel eagerly got to his feet, following his Master outside. "Thank you for your assistance, Mister Adler," he muttered, and Dean was a little happy to see that his Master didn't really like the man.

"I'll send for you if the pregnancy doesn't come through and we need a repeat visit." Alistair muttered something under his breath but said nothing, just tugged at Dean's leash and led him towards the car.

There was a loud sound of protest from the dome and Dean turned towards it, putting himself between his Master and the potential threat in reflex. His eyes landed on Castiel, who was clinging onto the ropes like a spider monkey about three feet above ground level, his eyes focused and intense on Dean. Before he even thought about it, Dean tried to head toward the other Angel, stopped by the leash still held firm in Alistair's fist. The human hadn't noticed, but he turned when he met resistance. "Come on -." His order stopped short, seeing the clear longing in his Angel's eyes. Dean tugged once again on the leash, but gentler this time, as though he were asking permission.

Dean's bright green eyes, flashing white momentarily, met Alistair's, and the Angel whined lowly, ducking his head then looking back at Castiel, who was still watching the two, his wings fluttering lightly behind him. Dean tugged again.

Alistair rolled his eyes, but remembered how the breeder had said that Angels establish relationships very quickly and a separation after that can be detrimental to their happiness.

Why anyone should care if an Angel was happy – could they even feel happiness? – was beyond Alistair.

"Go on then, but five minutes," he muttered, not caring if Dean understood him or not; he could always use the tattoo if he got too friendly or something. Dean smiled and, to Alistair's surprise, leaned in to brush his lips against the human's cheek briefly before he ran over to the dome. Castiel's smile was wide and blinding when Dean approached him, linking his fingers through the rope around Castiel's. The smaller male's wings extended out, brushing against Dean's through the dome, causing them both to shiver. Something had definitely been established between them, now, irrevocable, a bond that wasn't quite mates, not quite friends or brothers…just _something. _Dean nudged his nose against Castiel's and the Angel responded with a soft bite across the bridge, causing Dean to snort and shake it off, grinning. The smaller male purred gently, a gentleness in his blue eyes despite the fact that he must obviously be able to smell the female on Dean, that Dean liked. This male wasn't the jealous type, or at least understood that it wasn't Dean's idea or fault. If it were up to him, he would definitely be up to taking this male as a mate. If Sam agreed, of course.

"Come on, Dean, time to go home," Alistair ordered, causing Dean to whine gently; he didn't want to go. He pressed his lips to Castiel's forehead in a gentle, chaste kiss, brushing his wings against the other male's one more time; a promise to be back someday, before he pulled away and ambled back to the car. Alistair said nothing as he started the car, and didn't comment on the fact that Dean's eyes were firmly in the rear-view mirror, locked with the blue stare until well beyond what human eyes could see.


	4. Chapter 4

**Animals**

**Rating: R**

**Pairings: Human!Azazel/Human!Alistair, Angel!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Anna (Mating), Dean/Michael (Dub-con), Sam/Dean/Castiel (Final Relationship). Mentions of Dean/Castiel and Sam/Ruby.**

**Warnings: Animal-like interactions, Wing-porn, Rough sex, Dub-con/Non-con (There's a boundary between them somewhere), Language, DSM sort of dynamics, Violence.**

**Summary: "I may have…bought a new housemate today," he said, slightly sheepish, and Azazel's eyes lit up in delight. He'd been pestering for Alistair to buy a Demon for months, worried that leaving Sam alone all day couldn't be good for him and that if Alistair bought a female they could always breed them and make more money. Azazel by no means saw Sam as just a stud, but if it helped then why not, you know?**

**Disclaimers: Nothing is owned. I may be convinced into selling my soul for creative rights, however. (:**

Dean had mated, but that didn't mean he was out of season yet. Alistair and Azazel knew that Angel mating seasons lasted for three or four days, and so they decided to wait until the end of the week to bring Sam back home. Dean was listless, often found staring blankly at some point in the apartment, or cooped up in his little corner at the top of the bookshelf. He took a greater liking to Azazel, whereas before he would generally disregard the existence of the other man; whenever Azazel got home Dean would walk up to him and nuzzle him affectionately, brushing his wings against Azazel's shoulders and arms before stepping away as though nothing had happened. Azazel never bothered to mention the electric tingle that was left behind at Dean's touches.

Alistair was the same – if he noticed his companion's apparent moroseness he didn't mention it, but he did occasionally go out of his way to take Dean outside, or would pet him more often if it seemed Dean was particularly mopey.

Two days after Dean's mating with Anna, Alistair had just been walking home from a photo shoot, and it was dark – maybe ten or eleven at night. Not late enough for the _real _creepers to come out to play, but enough that one always hurried home if they had any survival instinct at all. He'd taken to letting Dean come with him on some shoots, providing there would be no other Angels or Demons around, but Dean had been particularly pissy that morning, so he'd left him at home.

He was starting to regret the decision now. Alistair was almost positive he was being followed. His fingers curled a little into a fist, fingertips brushing his tattoo so that Dean would be able to feel his anxiety, but Alistair was worried – there was no way of calling Azazel without letting his pursuer know something was up and potentially get aggressive, and all of the windows as far as he knew were shut and locked in the apartment, as well as the door, and Angels were trained to never leave the house without an escort.

Hopefully the order through the tattoo would persuade Dean to break the rules, but he wouldn't make it in time if he couldn't fly – Alistair was still a good six (long) blocks from home. He should have taken the bus.

He could hear the person getting closer, breathing heavy and immediately skirted around a building, heading into a better-lit part of the block, where hopefully there would be people and therefore witnesses. He pressed down hard on the tattoo, ordering Dean to him immediately – even if it was just a hoax, it's not like Dean could resent him or make him feel foolish about it.

Alistair quickened his pace, alarmed when the footsteps behind him quickened as well. Soon he gave up all pretense of being ignorant and just broke into a flat-out run, heart pounding in his ears as he struggled to reach his apartment building before the person behind him could catch up. No such luck; the guy was obviously faster and, when his massive bulk slammed into Alistair from behind, it was clear that he was also a lot brawnier.

He felt himself get slammed into the brick wall of an apartment block, hearing a sickening crunch that must have been his cheekbone breaking, judging by the sharp pain and dull throbbing that followed the sound. The blow knocked most of the wind out of him too, leaving him panting and unable to speak or cry out for help.

His fingers curled around his tattoo again, sending another order towards Dean.

Alistair's eyes flew open when he felt the cold edge of a blade being pressed into the back of his neck. "Now," a voice said behind him, giving him a very unpleasant image of grease and blood and alcohol, "this can go easy or it can go really easy. Give me your wallet and call off your little Angel, or I decapitate you nice and slow."

Confusion made its way through his pain-hazy mind, making Alistair try and turn to see who his attacker was, but the blade bit down more firmly and halted him. Not in time for Alistair not to see, though; Dean had arrived – damn, he was fast – but the attacker had a pet of their own. A massive thing, dark-skinned and black-eyed, but an Angel. The creature's white-yellow wings were larger than Dean's, his human shape bigger, obviously older by several human years, and he was crouching between Dean and the two humans, wings arching up and aggressive. Dean obviously wasn't intimidated by the display, his own wings stretching and arching, lips parting in a snarl as he leant forward, hands curled into fists. The only reason he hadn't attacked was because doing so could distract him enough that harm would come to his Master.

"Do it," growled the stranger, shoving against Alistair's shoulder harshly, causing it to dig into the wall. "Call him off or I'll slit your throat and take his pretty ass for myself. How much do you think a black-winged Angel will sell for, hmm? Especially such a fine specimen you've gotten for yourself…" There was a pause, the guy shifting his weight just a little, and Alistair could feel his eyes burning into Dean as though he were the one being weighed up. "You know what? I've changed my mind; give me your pretty little Angel here and we'll call it even."

The blade dug in a little harder, slicing through the first few layers of skin, as extra incentive.

"Dean," Alistair managed to choke out, terrified of speaking lest the action make the knife cut deeper, "Stand down." His words sounded harsh, an order, but his clenched fingers were pressing tightly against the tattoo, telling Dean to attack, to save him. Alistair was nothing if not a self-preservationist.

His Angel obviously understood the counter-message, because within a second Dean had crouched and launched himself at the larger male Angel, loud snarl echoing oddly around the empty street. A light overhead exploded, going out, and glass fell in little shards around the four.

The dark-skinned Angel was bigger, but it proved to be a disadvantage when faced with Dean's style of fighting. With Sam as a housemate, Dean had been quick to pick up a more dodge-and-weave kind of fighting, more inclined to land a punch and then jump away; force the attacker after _him, _away from the two humans. The Angels' eyes flashed white, the sigils on their collars glowing as they tried to access their magic.

"Damn it," Alistair heard the attacker behind him growl, frustrated. He shoved Alistair away, and when Dean saw that his Master was removed from the immediate danger his attack grew more aggressive; he was throwing all his focus into the fight, more inclined to get hit if it meant he could land a harder blow, to try and debilitate the other Angel as quickly as he could. Dean was still much younger than the other man's creature and had less finesse than a trained Angel, got tired more quickly.

Alistair was almost certain that Dean wouldn't win. Already his Angel's beautiful ebony wings were sagging, dragging along the ground. Every now and again Dean would try and lift them to fly away but was too tired to, and was restricted by the chain around his spine. He settled for trying to draw the larger Angel away, but that failed when his opponent had superior reach and had no problem settling a hand in one of Dean's wings and pulling him back when he tried to flee.

His fears were confirmed when the man shouted; "Uriel, stop playing and let's get him and go!"

The effect was immediate. The dark-skinned Angel suddenly crowded close to Dean, ignoring his fists and very efficiently landed a blow to Dean's temple. Alistair watched his Angel's eyes fade back to green, close and Dean collapsed at Uriel's feet, unconscious. Alistair hadn't even known Angels _could _be knocked unconscious. He was still frozen with shock, watching as Uriel bound Dean's hands, feet and wings, when the nameless man came up to him, pulling up his arm. His blade was quick, but the cut was painful as he sliced through and around Alistair's tattoo, severing the bond between Angel and Master.

Alistair could only sit on the cold flagstones and watch as the three of them piled into a bright orange mustang and drove away.

* * *

"You _what?"_

Alistair sighed, scrubbing his bandaged hand over his eyes. He felt absolutely drained, exhausted; those painkillers had done a number on his brain, he was sure of it. He shifted the phone to his shoulder, starting some coffee before he answered Azazel.

"I got mugged. They took Dean," he said simply, because there was no way he was going to acknowledge just how empty the house seemed without him, how Alistair was missing the black ink on his hand, marking him as Dean's owner, or how he can't believe he didn't fight back more; how it's his fault that Dean's gone. "They were in a pretty conspicuous car, but it didn't look like a random thing. Their Angel was a professional, and the guy mentioned selling Dean or something. I want to look into it."

He'd called Azazel when he'd come home from the hospital, figuring that both he and Sam could come home now, now that Dean wasn't there. Azazel had, of course, immediately asked why, for Sunday was still three days away; Dean would still be in season, supposedly.

The thought of taking his Angel when in such a state was enough to get Alistair's jaw clenching, his gut rolling with hatred and anxiety over what might happen to Dean if he couldn't take care of him.

He'd never been the 'owning a pet' type of guy. Now he was getting attached to this _thing, _this Angel. Azazel must be rubbing off on him.

But what if they forced him to mate? What if they trapped him or confined him or beat him or starved him? What did these people _want? _Alistair wasn't ignorant; he knew Dean was a rare breed and that he'd be sought after from all sorts of twisted collectors for various purposes. There were some people in the Far East rumored to be starting an elitist group of fighters made of men and their bound Angels. There were others much closer to home that wanted to kill Angels and Demons; that were afraid of them and wanted them all dead. Alistair had no idea what Dean's fate might be and the thought scared him more than it should.

"Alright," Azazel finally said. "I'll call John and see if he'd have any leads on it. Just rest up and Sam and I will be home soon, 'kay?"

"Alright. No hurry," Alistair replied, hanging up. John Winchester was the finest Hunter/Informant on anything related to Angels and Demons. Rumor had it that he had a bit of Angel blood inside him, or something, but that was never proven. He and Azazel had become good friends a few years ago when John had told him about how a Demon had tried to save his wife and two sons from a house fire, and failed and the Demon had died with them. It hadn't even belonged to John – it had died trying to save complete strangers, and since then John has always wanted to learn about the things, find out if there was more behind the animal-like behavior and the willingness to serve. He always kept an eye on things, from the breeding grounds to hatcheries to checking up on abuse cases. The man never slept, and if there was anyone who would know about who had taken Dean, it would be him.

The painkillers were making the room spin, and Alistair felt dizzy from blood loss and worry. He was asleep before the kettle started boiling.

* * *

Sam had known something was wrong when Azazel came to pick him up early.

His Master practically reeked of anxiety and worry. He wouldn't say anything, or try to explain it to Sam – not that Sam would have understood, right? – but Sam _knew. _He could sense something was up and he sensed it had something to do with the family.

Sam didn't take well to bad things happening in the family. He'd always been overprotective of those he cared about, and those that cared about the people he cared about too. And so when he'd come home to find Dean's scent too old for comfort, he'd immediately freaked out.

He heard words that he vaguely understood, in that abstract sort of way, like 'Gone' and 'Missing' and 'Taken', and he didn't like any of them, especially when interspersed with Dean's name all the time. His Master was worried constantly; always on the phone with a man he called 'John', who Sam had met once before, actually, with his Master once at the place he spent most of the day. Sam had liked the man; he smelled of ink and cotton and he seemed very dedicated and intense in everything he did. Whenever he came around Master would smile, so he was alright in Sam's books.

When John came over to interview Alistair and Azazel on Dean's possible whereabouts he greeted Sam with a gentle scratching behind the ears, like one would do a cat, and a soft word or two. Sam curled up on the couch with Azazel while Alistair described the man and Angel who'd taken Dean. Unbeknownst to the humans, Sam was listening attentively as well;

"Can you describe the guy for me?" John asked, taking out his notebook as well as a laptop, to see right then if anything Alistair could tell him would bring up a hit on the database, so he could get to work right away. Alistair sighed, running his unbandaged hand over his head.

"Well, the best look I would have gotten out of him was after Dean broke the streetlight, so what I can say is only guesswork at best, but the guy was tall, muscled. He had dirty blonde hair, as far as I could tell. He spoke well, seemed educated. Pale, green eyes."

John looked at him from where he was jotting down his notes, frowning slightly. Sam lifted his head, smelling the anxiety in the male, head cocked to one side in curiosity. John's heart rate was picking up, adrenaline pumping into his system. He knew something.

"Okay…describe his Angel to me, please." Sam had to give the guy credit; he certainly didn't seem excited on the outside.

Alistair nodded; "He was well trained. Big black Angel with white and yellow-dappled wings. He was older than Dean – looked to be about twenty-three by their standards, and the guy called him Uriel."

John dropped his pen, eyes wide open in shock. "_Uriel?" _He repeated, immediately swapping over the notepad for his laptop, typing in something into the database. "Seriously?" The man's eyes were bright with excitement, with a sick kind of glee. He reminded Sam of a Demon on the Hunt, when Sam's sire and dam had been uncollared and unbound to humans; deadly, unstoppable, feral. "Alistair, I think Dean may have been captured by 'Morning Star'."

Azazel and Alistair stiffened at the name. They knew the organization. Or more of the cult, really. They were a group of people, mostly located in the southern United States that dealt in Black Market trades of Angels, Demons and anything related to them. They were known for kidnapping rare breeds and trading them off to rich buyers in other countries, or breeding them to sell the offspring. The founder had been the human bound to the Devil himself – Lucifer, the Morning Star, for which the organization was named. A human woman named Lilith who had been so closely bonded to her Angel that she went mad when he was murdered in a brutal attack by other Angels. She began a movement, a sensation across the United States, gathering people to her side through various means. She had money, power and followers, and she was a stark raving sociopath. Anyone who lost a companion to her never saw them again.

Rumor had it that Lilith was after the black-winged Angels now, because they reminded her of her own dear Angel. And there were whispers that she owned two of the three remaining Archangels in the world; powerful sons of bitches that were bound to her through some pretty heavy magic. The only reason, it was said, that she hadn't tried for world domination was because it wouldn't be as profitable. Yet.

God help us when that day comes.

"So, wait…you're acting like this is good news!" Alistair growled, frustrated at the slow smile spreading across John's face. "How is this good news?"

"Because we can find him before he gets too deep, hopefully. You know the Angel's name – Uriel. He's bound to…he's bound to a man named Adam. Adam Milligan. He's one of the captors working for Lilith, one of her favorites, it's said. If we can find him we might be able to find your Angel, and maybe get enough dirt on the whole operation to shut it down."

"Great, so we just have to find the guy," Alistair snapped with a roll of his eyes, frowning. "Shouldn't be hard. How long has the Government been trying to shut Lilith down? Oh, only a few decades. Yeah, should be a snap."

"Well it's something, isn't it?" Azazel replied coolly, standing up and dislodging Sam with a grunt. "Thank you for your time, John, please let us know if you find something."

"I will, man, don't worry. I'll give you a call if I find anything, but don't get your hopes up."

"Don't worry. We won't."


	5. Chapter 5

**Animals**

**Rating: R**

**Pairings: Human!Azazel/Human!Alistair, Angel!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Anna (Mating), Dean/Michael (Dub-con), Sam/Dean/Castiel (Final Relationship). Mentions of Dean/Castiel and Sam/Ruby.**

**Warnings: Animal-like interactions, Wing-porn, Rough sex, Dub-con/Non-con (There's a boundary between them somewhere), Language, DSM sort of dynamics, Violence.**

**Summary: "I may have…bought a new housemate today," he said, slightly sheepish, and Azazel's eyes lit up in delight. He'd been pestering for Alistair to buy a Demon for months, worried that leaving Sam alone all day couldn't be good for him and that if Alistair bought a female they could always breed them and make more money. Azazel by no means saw Sam as just a stud, but if it helped then why not, you know?**

**Disclaimers: Nothing is owned. I may be convinced into selling my soul for creative rights, however. (:**

Humans are stupid.

Sam had come to this conclusion very quickly after being bonded to Azazel. Humans seem to be incapable of doing things on their own. They need organizations and laws and _groups. _It's such a strange concept to Demons, who are generally loners by nature, only coming together if wounded or during mating seasons.

They also seemed content to sit around and just _wait _for something to happen, as though through Divine Intervention something will just drop Dean back into their laps. Sam wasn't stupid; he was realistic. He knew that the only way for Dean to come home if he had been taken was to find this Adam and this Uriel and hunt them down, and kill them if necessary.

Dean was _Sam's, _and no one took away from a Demon what was his. Humans may be all talk and no action, but if by chance Demons do find mates for life and have offspring in the wild, then it's a death sentence to try and take one of them away.

So Sam waited until his Masters were asleep. He might get into trouble for this, but there was no psychic link between a Demon and its Master, and Azazel couldn't order him home if he couldn't find him. Besides, if he returned with Dean then maybe it would be okay. Sam knows he would be happy with his friend and potential mate by his side again.

The scent in Alistair's car was cold, but it was enough to get more of Dean, and Sam could smell him when he must have been trying to help Alistair, the night he was taken away. An unescorted Demon was usually cause for alarm in the city, but if Sam hid the band around his wrist then he could blend in just like any other guy, as long as he didn't try to speak.

Humans are stupid. It's not his fault they can't understand Enochian.

_They think we're dumb, _he grumbled to himself under his breath, his native dialect – a Middle-Western corroboration of Latin and Enochian – flowing loose and easy from his lips, following Dean's scent as best he could through the busy streets, _but in all honesty…what Demon will turn down a life of sex and comfort, and what Angel will turn down a life of community and peace? It's convenience. These collars keep us weak but not stupid. Humans are stupid._

He stopped, suddenly, turning to look down an alleyway that reeked of Dean, and some other male. _Uriel, _he guessed, stalking forward, cautious. He heard nothing, saw even less but was still on his guard. Dean's scent was strong, the scent of his heat and his blood, as well as Alistair's blood. Sam knelt down by a crimson patch, inhaling and confirming that, yes; this was where Alistair must have been attacked. Right outside this alleyway. Sam knew there lay a relatively popular bar just a few doors down. If he'd made it another block he would have been safe.

Sam stood, having gotten a good handle on Dean's scent now and followed it to an unoccupied car space. They would have driven away, then. He didn't care; he could smell the type of gas and if it wasn't too busy or confusing, he could pick out Dean's scent underneath it all. That was enough to give him a relatively good trail to follow, and with that Sam broke into a run, fleeing the city like a bat out of Hell.

* * *

He didn't know where the road would lead, but an Angelic Breeding Ground wasn't one of them. The scents of pheromones and Grace overwhelmed Sam from miles away as he approached the giant rope dome, his eyes turning flat black in response to so many Angels in one place. A part of him wanted to flee away from so many enemies in one gathering, but the other part was determined to find Dean and Dean's scent had led to this place, so he had to at least try.

The Angels were uncollared, and that meant they would be able to access their Grace and kill him if they deemed him as a threat – which, hello, Demon? Of course they would – but they were still bound to humanity, so hopefully a full-on attack would be deemed unnecessary.

Sam walked up to the dome, casting his black eyes around warily for any signs of humans as he approached the Angels. He could smell Dean faintly, but couldn't see him – he'd been here. Perhaps one of the Angels could help him, if they were willing.

A commotion broke out when he was about a hundred feet away. Several Angels screeched and dove for him, unable to get to him through the ropes. Their eyes glowed a blinding white and it burned Sam to look at them, but he needed their help. The attacking Flock were rabid, trying to claw through the ropes to reach him and destroy him but were unable to. Sam had to smirk at that.

He closed his eyes, feeling the restriction of the band around his wrist as he tried to access his powers. He got down on one knee, a safe distance away from the still-attacking Angels, mindful of how much time it would take before humans were alerted and sent his way. He had to act quickly. He pressed his palm flat against the dusty ground, fingers splayed as far as they could go and _pushed, _sending the thought of _Dean _into the Earth and the dome. He heard the Angels still; grow silent as the psychic image of Dean spread through the ropes, vibrating the entire dome so the metal creaked alarmingly. Sam pictured Dean's sleek wings, their span and their power; his bright green eyes and how they flashed white when he was angry or upset; his scent, the smell of his season and the smell of his Grace…Sam pushed the thought at the Angels as hard as he could, along with his anxiety for his missing friend/mate and his need to find him again, the desperation that had caused him to seek help from Angels.

He finished the thought with a soft plea for help, a gentle encouragement for them to aid him; _Please._

_Sam. Dean. _The Demon's eyes snapped open, hearing both his and Dean's name and he raised his head, searching the Angels for the one that had spoken. Most of them were looking away from Sam, towards a small male that clung to the ropes on ground level, perched there, the only one meeting Sam's eyes directly. Cocking his head to one side, the Demon cautiously pushed himself to his feet, eyes warily focused on the other Angels. They seemed to no longer care, once he had established his intent. They all remembered the black-winged Angel that had rolled in a couple of days ago, his scent and his season, and though they didn't care enough to help Sam, they also didn't care enough to be openly hostile to him.

Sam and Castiel were left alone, and the Demon slowly approached him.

_Sam, _the Angel sent again, the sound weak in Sam's head, and he knew this was because there was no physical contact between them; Angels work through touch a lot. Sam knew this but he wasn't trusting enough to get closer than just out of arm's reach, lest the Angel try to smite him.

He merely sent another nudge, this time specifically to the Angel, with Dean's name and another plea for help. _Do you remember him?_

_Well. _Castiel cocked his head to one side, his bright blue eyes studying Sam closely. _You are his mate._

Sam nodded once, a short, sharp gesture, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. This male smelled like Dean; not quite a mate, but more than a friend, at least a brotherly bond existed between them. The thought made Sam relax, just a little, hoping that if they both cared about Dean enough the Angel would be persuaded to help him.

_Was he here?_

_He was brought to mate. They chose Anna, and then they took him away. Not before I bound him, though. _The Angel seemed smug, almost; very pleased with himself. His silvery-black wings shifted behind him as he leaned closer to Sam, face peeking through one of the squares of rope. _I can sense him everywhere. It is weak but it will grow stronger when he wakes up._

Sam cocked his head to one side, the territorial side of him not quite sure if he liked the fact that Castiel had marked something that was _his. _He snarled a little to show his displeasure, but that was it; his voice was neutral when he replied; _So if I freed you, you could help me find him?_

_Yes. _The male pushed, eager, against the ropes, stretching them as best he could before relaxing again, his wings flexing and unfurling already, as though preparing for flight. _The sigils around the dome are Enochian, as are the ropes. They cause harm to us to fight, but not you. Break any one of them and I can get out._

_We go after him together, understood? _Sam wanted to be very clear on this; Dean was _his, _damn it and this blue-eyed Angel was _not _going to take Dean away from Sam. Bonded or not, Sam was there first and he'd marked Dean as a mate, even if they hadn't actually been fully bound yet. They would be; Sam would make sure of it.

The Angel seemed to sense this, for his eyes widened and he leaned away, just a little. His wings pinned themselves tightly to his back as he lowered his head, eyes on the ground in front of Sam. Accepting him as the dominant.

_I will never take what it yours. Dean is yours. I just want him to be safe._

_He is not safe now._

_I know. We must hurry.

* * *

_

It hurt to move. Everything from his head to his feet to his wings hurt, felt weighed down as though tied to cement. There was a sharp throbbing in his head and down his spine and even trying to open his eyes hurt.

Still, Dean made a valiant effort to try. He cracked one lid open and, when he wasn't immediately blinded and his brains didn't come out through his eyes, he opened both of them fully. He couldn't see much, since he was turned towards a brick wall, but he could tell that he was in a relatively spacious room – he had plenty of room to stretch to his full height, arms over his head, and he wasn't tied or harnessed in any way. In fact, he felt more free than usual…lighter, somehow.

Frowning, trying to figure out why he felt this way, Dean rolled onto his back. He whimpered slightly when the action caused him to land on his wing, and he shifted to move it out of the way. That's when he felt it. Or didn't feel it, as the case may be; the chain that linked from his collar to his spine – it was gone. There was no constricting metal biting into his skin or the flesh of his wings. It wasn't just detached – it had been completely removed. A sharp flare of pain up his spine when he stretched suggested that the means had been surgical.

Dean pushed himself to a sitting position, blood rushing out of his head and making him dizzy. He held his head in his hands while the room stopped spinning, looking around again. He was right – the room was huge and spacious. There were a few cushions piled in one corner, the floor was bare and made of cement, and there was also a large wooden door on one wall with a flap that he assumed was for food.

Scratching absently at his neck, Dean's hand froze when he only met bare skin. His collar had been taken away. That explained why he felt such a lack of restriction. His Grace flowed freely through every part of his body; he could feel it in his veins, his feathers, and now that he was conscious his Grace was actively trying to soothe away the aches, pains and the surgical cut that was knitting itself back together along his spine as he sat. He flexed his wings, feeling the newly-strengthened things bunch and strain, muscles responding to his whim.

Dean didn't know where he was, or where his Master was. He tried searching in his mind for the link between him and Alistair, but it wasn't to be found. He felt a strange sense of loss at that; to be bound to another being like that, so closely, is an intense feeling and it's unpleasant when you wake up to find that feeling gone.

"Oh good! He's awake." Dean flicked his eyes over to the door, where a young human male was standing. Instinctively he snarled, eyes flashing white as he recognized the man who had taken him from his Master; could smell the man's Angel all over him. "Now, now," Adam admonished, shaking his head a little. "None of that. Wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

Dean's only response was a louder snarl.

"Lilith doesn't want you harmed," Adam said, his pale green eyes looking Dean over slowly, in a calculating way that the young Angel definitely didn't like. He flexed his wings behind him, folding them tightly as he glared at the human, who smirked. "Can't hurt the merchandise. But we're a firm believer in doubling profits; your friend here is very good at it, in fact."

He heard a sound coming from above him and froze, casting his eyes upward.

There was a perch set into the wall, three feet from the ceiling, well over Dean's head. Crouched there was another Angel. He was older than Dean, much older, though to humans he would look to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He had jet black hair and pale green eyes that were currently focused like lasers onto Dean, unblinking. His wings were solid white, hanging down below him and draping along the brick wall, touching the floor. They were _huge, _and _beautiful, _and Dean had no idea how he'd hadn't noticed the male there before now.

Solid black is rare, but solid white wings only mean one thing; an Archangel. Dean was currently in a room with an Archangel, who was looking at Dean as though he were a starving man and Dean was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

As the epic staring match continued, Dean was vaguely aware of Adam backing away, shutting the heavy wooden door, leaving him and the Archangel alone.

Dean didn't realize he was trembling until he tried to push himself back, away from that gaze, and his arms gave way under him, rendering him immobile.

The Angel held his breath, not even daring to take in the Archangel's scent, because if he did he knew he would fall prey to it; Archangels were special. They were the only dominant males in Angel society and they held allure, mystery, _power…_They generally had to keep solitary lives in the wild, or build large harems of willing Angels that had fallen under their spell. They worked their magic through scent, so if Dean didn't breathe he would be okay.

And if he gave no reason for the Archangel to approach him….Because Archangels work through scent, mostly, but their Grace is equally seductive, and if Dean was allowed to feel it he would be powerless to resist the desire to fall under the Archangel's whims.

Dean sat, frozen, locked in an epic staring match with the Archangel until, slowly, the older male shifted on his perch, sliding to sit on it and then jumping down with a soft thump. Dean's eyes followed his movements carefully, trying not to notice the brilliance and sheer beauty of the Archangel's wings, to not fall prey to the call of his Grace. Already Dean's wings were curving towards the other male, encouraging him to approach, and it took all of Dean's willpower to resist, to fold them back tightly behind him. The Archangel smirked, amusement lighting his eyes for a moment as he took in Dean.

The younger Angel tried to push himself to his feet, stubbornly refusing to take another breath – he had no idea how long he could hold it for, but it was worth a shot to try – and backed away from the Archangel, hoping his body language was defensive enough that he got that Dean wasn't interested.

But since when are Archangels ever told 'No'?

Dean's lungs were starting to burn when the Archangel stepped forward again, his brilliant white wings trailing along the floor until he lifted one, reaching forward to brush against Dean's own wing. The younger Angel tried to push him away but was unable to, having backed himself into a corner quite literally, and the brush of raw Grace against raw Grace made him gasp, eyes clenching tightly shut as the Archangel's power flowed through him, heady and strong; a siren call.

_Michael. _That was the Archangel's name. _Michael…_ He stepped forward again, crowding close to Dean, his wings extending to effectively trap Dean into the corner – he wouldn't be able to move without touching them and therefore accepting Michael's invitation. Not that it mattered; Michael was an _Archangel, _there is no _choice _when one offers to mate with you – an Angel that values its Grace doesn't say '_No'. _

But Dean wanted to. God, did he want to.

Michael drew in Dean's scent at the same time Dean was forced to inhale Michael's, lest he pass out from lack of oxygen. Michael smelled of _sin _– ironic, I know – and pure, unfiltered Grace. He smelled of sex and forests, vanilla and blood and power. Try as Dean might to ignore the siren song, he was helpless against his body's base reactions, his urge to submit to such a powerful creature and mate with Michael, whose eyes had darkened, his intent more obvious once he sensed Dean's heat, smelled how receptive the younger male would be of him and his seed. The Archangel pressed closer, one hand knotting in Dean's hair and pulling his head to one side, revealing the large bite mark still left there by Sam – Dean had healed Anna's away, but Sam's would stay there forever if he willed it to.

Michael obviously found the sight displeasing, for he snarled – a heavy, bass sound –, his other hand curling around Dean's hip and drawing the younger male closer. Closer into him, so be completely encased by his Grace and his power, to seduce Dean further. His teeth were bared and parted, hovering over Dean's artery, ready to bite down at any given moment.

_Are you another's?_

Dean hesitated; say that he belonged to Sam and risk the Archangel's wrath, or say that he was unclaimed and risk Sam's? Dean had no idea where he was or how long he was going to be there, if Sam even knew he was missing or would be able to find him…He had no idea if they had stuck him in here with Michael for this exact purpose…Or if his Master had found him and expected him to mate.

But he remembered his feelings after mating with Anna, and he hadn't liked them. _Yes, _he answered, bold when his wing pressed against Michael's in retaliation, eyes closing again as he felt the Archangel's power, his wrath and the Grace that made fear and arousal spike through him in a dangerous combination, made him thrust his hips forward to grind against Michael's. _I am another's._

Michael smirked, his hand tightening on Dean's head as he pulled away from Dean's neck to meet Dean's eyes. _Not anymore. _His mental voice was a growl as he surged forward, pinning the younger Angel against the rough brick wall and sealing their lips together.

Dean had never been kissed before, and he had never kissed anyone else. His interactions with Sam had never involved this, although he'd seen Alistair and Azazel do it before. He was pretty sure it shouldn't be like this; Michael's power and Grace were so _strong, _that it was all Dean could do to focus on resisting their addictive allure and not sink into the Archangel's embrace. So focused was he on _not giving in, _that he completely missed it when Michael's hand came up on the side of his face, fingernails digging into his temple hard enough to bleed, right below his hairline.

When Michael drew away from the kiss his lips and chin were reddened, and Dean licked his own lips, realizing that the Archangel must have bitten through them. Michael leaned forward, licking at the corner of Dean's mouth before he brought his fingers to his lips, tipped in Dean's blood and sucked them clean.

Dean knew what that meant. A bond had been established now, as mates. And Dean was very aware that, unlike Sam, Michael would be impatient to seal the deal, so to speak. One doesn't keep an Archangel waiting.

_You're mine, now._

Dean shivered at the possessiveness, and hated himself at that moment for responding to it. The submissive, in-season part of him was reacting to the strong male being nearby, wanting to accept his offer to mate and please him, take his seed. Dean watched as Michael pressed his fingers back to where he'd left the marks on Dean's forehead and temple, felt the soothe of Grace flow from the Archangel, and knew without looking that he would bear permanent scars there after this day.

Michael drew Dean into another kiss, gentler this time, satisfied that the younger Angel had fully submitted to his Grace and his dominance and would be receptive to him now. Dean moaned into Michael's mouth, clutching desperately at the creature's thin t-shirt – whether to pull him closer or pull him away was undecided.

Michael was slow and deliberate in everything he did, from the rhythmic stroking of Dean's wings to the way his body forced the young Angel against the rough brick wall. Dean moaned loudly, the pain-pleasure of the wall against his unchained spine shooting through him, white-hot and addictive. His hands became frantic, one of them knotting in the Archangel's hair, the other dipping under his shirt to press flat against Michael's warm flesh, feeling the shift and jump of his lightly-muscled body.

The Archangel purred, happy that Dean had given into him and his desires, and his hands moved from Dean's wings – Dean almost whimpered at the loss of contact – and hooked instead under the Angel's thighs, forcing Dean to wrap his legs around Michael's waist and hips. Dean burned hot, feverish, under Michael's touch as the Archangel carried him over to where the cushions lay, settling Dean down on top of them and pinning him there with his weight. Dean shivered as the Archangel's hand ran down his flank, reminding the younger Angel painfully of Sam's more gentle petting and Dean closed his eyes tightly, jaw clenched as he tried to dig deep inside of himself, tried to find the will to at least attempt to push Michael away.

Dean heard the Archangel snarl very lightly, feeling his submissive's brief fight for freedom from his influence, and what brief clarity he had managed to gain was wiped away as Michael laid his enormous wings over Dean's, completely obscuring them and encasing Dean in the power of his Grace. Dean arched violently, so much pleasure coursing through his body that it was almost painful; too much. The sensations only grew stronger when Michael tore Dean's clothes away, rabid for skin-to-skin contact now, his voice echoing over and over in Dean's head; _mine, mine, mine…_

Dean wanted to fight back, and choked on the refusal when Michael settled his weight between Dean's legs, a hand on his thigh forcing them to spread for the Archangel. His wings shifted over Dean's, rubbing some of the finer feathers the wrong way and Dean whined, turning his head away from the pale green eyes, ashamed of how good the pain felt.

_Sam…_ Black and hazel eyes, dark chestnut hair that grew lighter whenever Sam spent much time in the sun, a low purr of comfort and large, warm hands that were always gentle, even in his anger. Dean closed his eyes and tried to picture him, his mate and friend, when Michael spit onto his hand and slicked his cock. Dean knew that was the only preparation he was going to get, and braced himself.

There was a commotion outside. Something was happening, but the sound of it was lost when Michael pushed in; one deep sure stroke that had Dean gasping in pain, trying to push away from the sensation, to scramble out from underneath Michael and get away, but the Archangel held him firm, hands caging his hips and wings still like lead weights on top of him. It hurt _so much; _hot, salty tears gathered behind Dean's eyes from the effort it was taking not to cry out, not to give the bastard the smug satisfaction of hearing his pain.

Michael pulled out halfway, and Dean could feel him _everywhere; _around him, inside him, on top of him, able to feel the Archangel shaking as he pushed back into Dean's tight body, purring into Dean's ear with his true voice – a voice so beautiful and terrifying that it caused Dean to shudder in a mix of pain and unbearable _want. _

_So beautiful…Dean…Beautiful…_ Pulling out again, Michael began his pace and it was just as slow and deliberate as the rest of his actions, but every thrust jarred Dean, made it feel like someone was trying to tear him apart from the inside out. _So pure…you were a virgin before me, weren't you? Not even claimed…How could you have belonged to another if you were still so pure?_

Dean shut his eyes tightly, refusing to acknowledge Michael's words or how hard they struck. Dean knew Sam wanted him, loved him…He just hadn't fully claimed him because of their Masters. Their Masters didn't want it, were satisfied with torturing them with their half-claim, so blissfully unaware of the ramifications.

There is no concept in Angelic society of a two-sided claim. One party will bear the mark – usually the male – and the other will be seen as the 'dominant' one, the one that is charged to protect its mate, and the one to answer to when its mate is harmed. There would be no concept of Sam belonging to Dean – Dean bore the mark, so he was _Sam's. _And if Sam hadn't claimed him, then it meant there was no bond to break.

But now he bore four of Michael's marks – little crescents, still red, along his hairline where Michael's hand had been.

_He didn't want you…He left you untouched. You're mine now, Dean. _Mine.

The sound of fighting was getting louder, coming closer to the door. Dean had no idea why, but his heart was speeding up now, sure that something was about to happen that would interrupt Michael, make him stop. He turned his head towards the door, willing someone to come through, to help him, but by the time the door was busted down, it was too late.

Michael's hand closed around Dean, stroked his shaft in an almost suffocating grip, his wings brushing against Dean's the wrong way again and Dean cried out, throat raw and voice wrecked, as he shuddered through his climax. Michael's smirk was feral as he picked up the pace inside of Dean, seeming to take pleasure in the way Dean whimpered when his flesh caught on the dry friction, tearing and giving blood, causing Michael to be able to move more easily. The Archangel kept up this pace for another minute or so, enjoying Dean's clenching muscles and pained sounds, milking the younger Angel's orgasm for all it was worth, until the sounds of a fight were right outside the door, and he stilled and shuddered, wings arching high over Dean, who groaned at the sudden loss of Grace-on-Grace contact, and Michael released inside of Dean, marking him as the Archangel's.

The tears fell freely when Michael pulled out for the final time with a sated groan, releasing Dean's now-bruised hips in favor of trailing possessively down Dean's chest and legs, over and over as the young male trembled beneath him.

_I am the first, and I will be your last. You are mine now, Dean._

Dean closed his eyes, cutting off the power of that bright, pale green and turned his head away, wanting to crawl into some dark hole and never come out of it again. Sam would never touch him now; it was suicide to attempt anything with an Archangel's mate.

Then again, Sam was a Demon, and since when do they give two flying rats about what Angels think?

Michael withdrew from Dean, the sounds of fighting now obnoxiously loud from behind the closed, heavy wooden door. Dean rolled onto his stomach, wings pinned tightly to his back as he desperately tried to heal all the wounds Michael had dealt him, so that he would be able to fight if necessary. But his Grace wasn't working – it was like he was stuck in the aftershocks of their mating; his body, his _Grace, _just refused to work. He wasn't healing himself like he should be able to.

Dean's attention was drawn by a loud snarl and the sound of heavy wood striking cement and shattering. He lifted his head in time to see Michael's eyes flash white and then the Archangel was under attack. Dean couldn't see who it was, but there was a happy throb in his Grace that just _knew _that Sam had come to rescue him.

_Dean…_ There were two of them. Another familiar face flooded into his, all bright-blue eyes that were wide with concern, a flash of dark black hair and pale skin that had been reddened with blood. Castiel's eyes and wings shivered with his Grace, brought forth for battle, and his hand burned when he grabbed Dean's shoulder, hauling the dazed Angel upright. _Come with me, Dean._

_No…Sam…_

_He'll be alright. We have to get you out of here. Come on, Dean, come on…_

Dean may not have moved were it not for Sam's voice, joining Castiel's until they were thunderous inside his head. _Go, Dean! Come on – Go! Run!_ And Dean, weakened as he was, could only allow himself to be pulled along. The corridor that room fed into was littered with bodies – among them was the man and Angel that had kidnapped him, both with their throats torn out and lying in a pool of their own blood. Dean should have felt pity or revulsion, but all he had for those two was a mild sense of triumph. The rest of him was numb.

He and Castiel had just managed to take to the air when the ground began to shake and the sky turned white. The scream of an Archangel deafened them and forced them back to the ground, and then there was the crunch of bone and nothing.

* * *

**Author's Note: Two chapters for the wait of one. Aren't I nice? And I've given you a lovely little cliffhanger to end it with. Next and final chapter will be up tomorrow. Surely my kindness and love towards you is worth a little review? Just to let me know what you think? Any takers?**

**Much love,**

**HigherMagic x  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Animals**

**Rating: R**

**Pairings: Human!Azazel/Human!Alistair, Angel!Dean/Demon!Sam, Dean/Anna (Mating), Dean/Michael (Dub-con), Sam/Dean/Castiel (Final Relationship). Mentions of Dean/Castiel and Sam/Ruby.**

**Warnings: Animal-like interactions, Wing-porn, Rough sex, Dub-con/Non-con (There's a boundary between them somewhere), Language, DSM sort of dynamics, Violence.**

**Summary: "I may have…bought a new housemate today," he said, slightly sheepish, and Azazel's eyes lit up in delight. He'd been pestering for Alistair to buy a Demon for months, worried that leaving Sam alone all day couldn't be good for him and that if Alistair bought a female they could always breed them and make more money. Azazel by no means saw Sam as just a stud, but if it helped then why not, you know?**

**Disclaimers: Nothing is owned. I may be convinced into selling my soul for creative rights, however. (:**

_Come on…Damn it…You have to wake up, you hear me? You can't just die now, not after everything…_

Curled in on itself, Dean's Grace stirred, just a little, stretching and turning within the confines of its vessel and wings. There was something dark on one of its sides, something unbearably bright on the other. Even as it stretched out, sensing, probing, the darkness pressed more closely, wrapping itself around the little frightened ball of Grace in a way that was so intimate that Dean's Grace was left shuddering.

_Dean, if you can hear me you have to wake up. I need you here._

The bright light kept away, cautious and watchful but not overbearing. Dean's Grace was glad for that; it shivered and trembled in the darkness' loving hold, as what seemed to be black smoke stroked and caressed it like one would do a frightened animal.

The Grace heard two voices, clamoring for its attention. Light and Dark pressed against it in equal measures, terrifying and reassuring and loving all at once. The Grace didn't know whether to fight or fall.

_Michael's gone, Dean. You're safe._

Michael. Dean's Grace shuddered at the name. It remembered; its body remembered, too. The darkness sensed its unease and tried to soothe it away, but the ache and fear and pain were building, welling up behind the Grace's light, turning it erratic until it pulsed with power. Unchained, uncollared, Dean's young Grace was a force to be reckoned with.

_Dean, Dean, Dean…_

It was time to wake up now.

_Dean!_

Dean shot upright with a cry of alarm, immediately finding his Grace and lashing out towards the room in general, trying to fight off whatever was causing dread to gather in his stomach, to make his heart start going a mile a minute…Whatever threat there was. For a moment, all he could feel was pain, up and down his spine, in his wings and legs, and then there was warmth. Solid, comfortable. Safety…He leaned into it on instinct, trying to bring his sight into focus to tell what was next to him.

He saw feet first. Four of them, to be exact, not including his own. Then legs; two of them adorned in jeans, the other covered by black dress pants. His eyes traveled upward more, taking in a large, strong body, giant hands that rested at the base of one of his wings, the other must be what's petting through his hair to try and calm him down, then a t-shirt that hid a well-muscled torso, a neck and jaw and a pair of black eyes that he definitely recognized.

_Sam…_ Pure joy flooded his being as he buried his face in the Demon's neck, a deep inhale confirming that it was, indeed, Sam, holding him close, embracing him like nothing had happened, soothing him from the nightmare that had left him shaking. It was Sam that was smiling at him like he was a long-lost lover that he'd never stopped loving, like he thought he'd never see Dean again and was delighted to be proven wrong. _Sam, Sam, Sam…_

Dean felt movement behind him and stiffened, just a little, looking over his shoulder to see a pair of azure eyes staring back at him, gentle and affectionate. Castiel was pressed against Dean's back, but not too closely to feel like the Angel was being confined. He smelled of blood; there was a healing cut on his face from his temple to just below his eye, and the silvery-black wings that stretched out behind him were bandaged in places to stem blood flow and stop infection while they healed.

_Cas…_ The smaller Angel smiled at Dean, one of his hands trailing down Dean's torso slowly, before the sky-blue eyes flickered over Dean to Sam, who was frowning just a little at him. Immediately Dean felt panic flood his system; _Don't be angry, Sam, please don't be angry…I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…_

Memory after memory assaulted him, of what he'd done to betray Sam, of how unworthy he was to be bound to the Demon; Anna…Michael…hell, even Castiel was proof of Dean's infidelity, no matter how unwilling that may have been. Dean remembered with guilt the fleeting thought that he would have definitely considered Castiel as a mate, under different circumstances.

Dean's frantic pleading was cut short when Sam ran a hand down his flank, slowly, the gesture every bit as affectionate and loving as it had been before…before. When Dean dared meet Sam's eyes again they were hazel and forgiving, and Sam brushed his nose against Dean's, still smiling gently.

_If you had not bonded with him, I would never have found you. _Sam's voice…God, Dean had missed it. The Angel's eyes fell closed as Sam brushed his lips and nose against his face, relearning every little feature. There was a brief pause when Sam found the fingernail marks that Michael had left, and again Dean tensed up, fearing Sam's wrath.

_I'm just sorry I didn't come sooner. I'm sorry it took me so long; too long. God…I could hear you, when we were approaching the place where they were keeping you. I could smell him in there, could smell _you _in there, and I knew what he would do to you, – _was _doing to you – and I wasn't fast enough. _Dean's eyes scanned Sam's face, found the beautiful hazel eyes shining brightly with unshed tears; _Dean, I should be begging your forgiveness. I'm so sorry…I couldn't protect you…_

_As am I. _Dean turned to look at Castiel, who was frowning in a mix of concern and repentance. _I wasn't able to detect you were in danger. We weren't fast enough. We're so sorry, Dean._ Castiel ducked his head, nuzzling at the back of Dean's neck, where his hairline stopped. _Forgive us._

Dean looked over at Sam, searching the Demon's eyes and mind for reassurance, that this wasn't all just pretty words. They _knew, _they said they knew, and they were still begging _him _for forgiveness?

No. It wasn't right. He didn't deserve that.

Dean pushed himself upright, noticing that while he was still naked, the blood had been cleaned away from his thighs and face, and there was no longer pain between his legs from Michael's violation. Whether that was his own doing or if Castiel or Sam had cleaned and healed him, he didn't know. His wings and head felt heavy with all that he was feeling and, for the briefest moment, he yearned for the emotional dullness and mental simplicity that the human collars granted him. At that thought, his gaze drifted to Sam's wrist. There was a tan-line on the Demon's arm, but no actual band there. Unthinking, Dean reached out and traced the paler flesh, silently asking explanation.

_Cas broke me out. We're free now, Dean. I won't let them take you away from me again._

Dean's bright green eyes flickered to Sam, wide in wonder, and then over to Castiel. The fact that Sam had let Castiel help him at all – that was a leap of faith – but it was the nickname that caught him so off guard. It was thought with affection, with a gentle acceptance of Castiel's place in Dean's life and, by extension, Sam's.

Sam had accepted Castiel into their group.

The Demon reached up slowly, running a hand straight down the middle of Dean's unchained spine, at the same time Castiel brushed his fingers through the base of his wings. Dean shuddered, his ebony wings flexing behind him as he moaned, eyes falling closed. He was boneless and unable to resist Sam's manhandling as the Demon pushed him back down to the bed, covering the Angel's body with his own.

_Let us erase his influence, _Sam murmured, petting Dean gently, his fingers mapping out the sharp angles and strong muscles of Dean's body, relearning the feeling of his mate underneath him. _Let us mark you again, claim you as ours. You will never be another's; they will never take you away from us. You are ours, Dean, and we are yours. Let us show you that. _Sam punctuated each sentence with a soft nip or kiss to Dean's neck and chest, such vast amounts of joy and love and protectiveness pouring out from Sam that for a moment all Dean wanted to do was bask in it.

Until Castiel joined in.

Plastering himself to Dean's side, the Angel focused on Dean's wings while Sam pleasured and worshipped his body. Castiel's long, elegant fingers combed through the sensitive feathers, around Dean's spine where he could reach. No patch of Dean's skin was left untouched or untasted, no filter on the emotions and words between them. Everything that had to be said and more was being said right here, right now.

All for Dean.

The Angel met Castiel's eyes, breathless and wanton, and laced a hand around the back of Castiel's neck, fingers knotting in the finer hairs at the bottom and pulled the smaller male down, sealing their lips together. He'd been right; this was how a kiss should feel like. Castiel was deliberate and patient, licking his way into Dean's mouth with the barest hint of pressure, not making Dean do anything he didn't want to do. Castiel tasted like he smelled; like rain and ocean spray and Dean was thirsty for more. Hesitantly he allowed Castiel to kiss him fully, tongues sliding together in a slow, heady dance, and Castiel made a little noise of approval in the back of his throat, one of his hands gently resting on Dean's neck to hold them together.

Dean gasped loudly, his moan swallowed down by Castiel when Sam nuzzled between his legs, purring as Demons are want to do. Sam's hands massaged Dean's thighs gently, teasingly touching around his hipbones and stomach until his mouth descended on Dean's rapidly hardening cock. The young Angel arched into the warmth of Sam's mouth, trying to get deeper into that delicious heat, but the Demon's hand kept him down. Dean whimpered, finding a sort of sweet surrender in letting the two males pleasure him, in being unable to give himself any, to rely completely on them to take care of him.

_Of course we will take care of you, Dean…_

_Always, beloved, always._

Beloved…Dean liked the sound of that. He smiled against Castiel's lips, gently tugging on the other Angel's hair so that they could break away and breathe. Castiel was flushed, already full lips even fuller and red from the kiss. Dean was sure he looked no better. Dean cast his eyes down to where Sam was pleasuring him with his mouth, the Demon's eyes now black again and focused on Dean with an intensity that would be scary in any other situation, but right now just served to make Dean's desire spike, his cock jerk in Sam's mouth, causing the Demon to chuckle, which just in turn made Dean hiss in pleasure, trying once again to arch further into Sam's mouth.

At once Sam pulled off, making Dean whine at the loss, but the sound was cut off half way in surprise when Castiel rolled the two of them over, so that Dean was pinning the other Angel down onto the bed. At once he balked, reminded too much of Michael, but found himself unable to move as Castiel's arms and legs wrapped around him, anchoring him in the present as well as to the bed.

_Please, _Dean murmured, voice soft and eyes begging as he met Castiel's gaze, trying to pull away again. He was stopped when Castiel's grip held firm. _Don't make me in his image._

_You are not him, _Castiel said, and with such a look of confident determination that Dean couldn't _not _believe him. _You will not hurt me, Dean. What we will have will be nothing like mating, or violation. It's love. _Castiel pulled Dean down for another kiss, though this one was chaste, more promise than fulfillment. _I trust you, Dean. Do you not trust me?_

_Of course I do…_ And he did. Dean felt the bond placed on him by Castiel, made even more prominent when Castiel sealed a hand over Dean's left shoulder, causing a tingling sort of pain that was so startling that he had to look over, seeing the hand-print shaped burn on his shoulder that he hadn't noticed before, that Castiel had left on him during his rescue. _You know I do._

_Then trust both of us. _Sam's heat was suddenly right behind him, and Dean realized that the Demon was kneeling on the bed, would be at perfect height and position to… Again Dean shied away, distressed, his heartbeat spiking for a moment as he looked over his shoulder, saw Sam naked and hard behind him.

_Sam…no…please…_

Sam smiled, though it was a little sad, as he leaned over Dean, chest to back and brushed some hair away from Dean's face, revealing the marks of Michael. _I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry he took from you what was yours to give, but you are not tainted. You are beautiful, and you are ours. Please, Dean, let us show you what it can be like. What love and bonds are for. _Sam brushed his fingertips gently through Dean's wings, causing the Angel to shiver. _Let me touch your Grace and let me feel you. I will never force you, but I don't want you to be afraid anymore. I don't want his marks on you, or his influence still over you._

_You are safe here, Dean._

_We love you, Dean._

Dean was shaking his head, eyes tightly shut. He wanted to let go, but he could still feel the bastard on him, around him, _inside of him. _He didn't deserve this unrelenting love and passion directed towards him, especially from Sam and Cas, who he both loved.

_I'm not worthy._

_Let us be the judge of that._

Castiel's soft moan made Dean's eyes open again. Sometime, during the inner monologue of loathing and self-deprecation, Castiel had undressed himself, and he lay underneath Dean, naked and beautiful, his outstretched wings practically glowing with his Grace. Dean moved his head, trying to see what was affecting Castiel so much, to see two of Sam's fingers buried as far as they could go inside the Angel. He watched, enthralled, as Sam twisted his wrist just _so, _and the cry Castiel let out was wrecked and beautiful, loud and full of unreserved passion. Dean swallowed audibly, turning his wide eyes back to Castiel, who was looking at him intensely.

_Need you, Dean, please? Pleasure me as Sam pleasures you, and let the Demon know of Grace. _Castiel leaned up, nuzzling at the opposite side of Dean's throat, away from where Sam's mating mark lay, and bit down hard enough to break skin; an invitation, an offer and an acceptance all at once. Dean felt Sam's fingers withdraw from Castiel and grip Dean's erection, guiding the Angel towards Castiel.

_Go on…_the Demon encouraged, nuzzling his own mating mark as he bit down.

That was all it took, really. Dean snarled, the sound loud and feral and he grabbed Castiel's hips, pushing in slowly, despite all the urgency burning in his blood – he would _never _hurt Cas like he had been hurt. _Never. _Something inside of him unwound and flew when he bottomed out inside of the other Angel, his entire body shaking with the pleasure of being wrapped in that tight heat, which became tighter and hotter momentarily as Cas clenched around him. Dean snarled again, this time as a warning as he found Castiel's neck, intent on placing his own mark there. When Dean bit down, drawing blood, which he licked at and swallowed like a man dying of thirst, Castiel's Grace pulsed with triumph and with love. Dean let his death grip on Castiel's hips go, in favor of knotting in the Angel's dark hair, kissing him with wild abandon, with a frenzy that Castiel eagerly answered.

Dean pulled back and thrust in again, every movement careful and slow, testing the waters in case he did something Castiel didn't like. The other Angel seemed to be suffering under no such qualms; whenever Dean bottomed out inside of him he clenched and moaned, baring his neck again and again as his back arched and Dean took the offer for what it was, his teeth alternating between Castiel's lips and his neck. The Angel would have a bruise the size of Texas on his throat by the time Dean was done.

Castiel purred gently into Dean's ear, stroking a hand lightly through Dean's hair when Dean felt Sam behind him. The other Angel stilled, but not out of fear; he wanted to make himself easier for Sam to work with. Enveloped in the love and warmth of his two mates, there was no room for fear or pain here, not anymore. Sam's fingers were gentle as they slid in, and with a pang of self-anger Dean realized he was still relatively loose from Michael, and Dean was relaxed, coaxed into complacency by Castiel's hands and wings and soft voice as Sam slid a third finger in, scissoring and stretching Dean as much as he could without causing pain. His fingers were wet and warm and gentle, and when Dean started pushing back onto his hand Sam deemed his mate sufficiently ready for him.

He climbed onto the bed, between Dean's legs which were between Castiel's, one hand guiding himself towards Dean's ass, the other gently stroking down his mate's spine. _Love you, Dean, _he whispered as he pushed in, moaning at the tight grip of Dean's muscles as he slid in a few inches, then stopped when Dean tensed. As soon as his Angel relaxed, Sam sunk in a little deeper; stop and start, stop and start, until he was fully sheathed inside of his quivering mate.

_You are beautiful, _he whispered, loving hands coaxing themselves into Dean's wings as he thrust forward, which in turn forced Dean deeper inside Castiel. _You are perfect._

_We love you, Dean._

_We'll never leave you again._

_They can't take you from us._

Dean choked on a sob, his eyes clenching tightly as he buried his face in Castiel's neck, unable to look at either of them. He was a slave to their joint movements; he hardly had to move at all, as Castiel lifted his hips for Dean to sink into him, and Sam pushed forward into Dean in turn. Back and forth, sensation too much when Sam began to hit his prostate, and Castiel began clenching in earnest, both of them running hands up and down his body and wings, a quick build-up of emotion and frenzy that had Dean coming before he could even think.

White went off behind his eyes and he loosed a loud, broken moan, held together by the two males as he rode his orgasm.

Sam came soon after, driven over the edge by the thought of finally marking his mate and the incessant clenching of Dean's muscles around him, and he snaked a hand beneath Dean to wrap around Castiel, who arched and released with a few short strokes.

They collapsed, boneless and sated on the bed after coming down, and Castiel willed them clean and comfortable in a heartbeat, pulling the blankets of their bed up around them – Dean had only just noticed they were in a bed, in some motel room somewhere. He smiled when Castiel nuzzled into his front, Sam curled up around his back and Castiel extended one beautiful, silvery wing across the both of them. All three fell asleep, one by one, willed into dreamland by their bond's strength, love and comfort.

* * *

They were two uncollared Angels and an unbanded Demon. They couldn't speak any human language – just a mix of Latin and Enochian, and if they did try to speak – or if the Angels did, at least – they'd likely melt a human's brains out of their ears. They wouldn't last long in the wild, when the city was all they'd ever known.

So they all went back to Azazel and Alistair. After some very obvious display of territory and marking on Castiel, the two humans were persuaded – with a little help from John; Sam always knew he liked that man – to take him into their apartment. One would worry about seasons and heat and everything, but after a certain disgruntled call from Mister Adler, saying that the mating with Anna hadn't gone through, Dean had been taken to an Angel specialist and pronounced infertile. He could neither conceive nor bear children.

There were no more worries about half breeds. Sam never attempted to mate solely with Castiel during his season – he was content to watch Dean and Castiel go at it, or participate with Dean while Dean mated with Castiel. The two of them were bound through Dean – he was the constant, the solid, the glue between them all and they loved him.

No one would ever take him away from them again. They would make sure of that.

* * *

When Sam took John and his deputy, Dan, to the place where Dean had been held, they found it had been wiped off the face of the Earth. When Michael had died – and Sam refused to tell Cas or Dean how he'd done it, if he'd done it at all – he'd taken a five mile radius with him. Luckily there had been no collateral damage, although Adam had been linked to Zachariah's breeding ground, working as a front gate security officer when Alistair had visited, and had therefore been able to know Dean's whereabouts, names of his owners, and had had all the information necessary for his capture. Zachariah was arrested under suspicion of being linked to 'Morning Star', and Bobby Singer had taken over the facilities during his trial.

All in all, it had been a busy week, and Sam, Dean and Castiel curled up together at the end of it, listening to their Masters talking in the other room, and reveled in the connection they shared, whispering to each other in long dead languages that no humans would ever hear.

FIN

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**Author's Note: So...you like? **

**There will likely be a sequel to this 'verse, but I'm having a little trouble coming up with a captivating storyline - it's gonna be a revenge!fic; that much I know, and will likely involve Gabriel somehow... Any criticisms/comments/ideas you want to throw my way will be listened to and very much appreciated. Thank you for the reviews for this story, and now that it's done I can get back to your regularly scheduled fics. **

**Loves to you all,**

**HigherMagic x  
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	7. Timestamp

**No Such Thing As Primitive Fire**

**Pairings: Minor Sam/Azazel, Jessica/Ruby (sort of), Azazel/Alistiar**

**Rating: PG-13 for language and boy-kissing.**

**Summary: Pre-'Animals', just a little glimpse into the lives of our favorite Demon and his Master. Same 'verse. Demon!Sam, Human!Azazel.**

**And the 'Kid Fic' square on my AU_Bingo Card here.

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She's always known. Of course she has; when your husband comes home at three in the morning smelling of another woman and too much of the 80 proof, and doesn't come immediately into your room demanding rough 'goodnight' sex, but instead goes to where your little boy sleeps and you hear yelling, thumping, and then he's eating his cereal in the morning sporting a new black eye, you know things. You notice.

She's been saving up. A big jar that he doesn't know about – that neither of them know about – that she keeps in the attic behind all the old war memorabilia from his time in the marines and the faded baby pictures she shoved up here and never touched again, it lays gathering dust and the nests of spiders. She brushes them away with the fond smile of motherhood, sends them scattering, and adds more. Ten dollars here, a fifty there, some that he doesn't notice is missing or whatever she can get from her job that doesn't go to his booze addiction or the rent.

When there's enough, and when his father is away at 'work' – if work constitutes fucking another woman (or man, he's not picky) behind her back, then that's where he is – she takes Azazel to the local Demon breeding grounds, to pick one out.

"Why do I need one?" he asks, and she smiles again because they both know. Of course they know. He's been getting more violent – Azazel has a broken arm now, and he walks a little funny, favoring his left leg, and she knows he'll need a protector because, quite frankly, the cancer that her husband and son don't know about is getting harder and harder to fight. All the money she should be spending on medicine is going to keeping Azazel moderately safe, clothed, fed, and his father unconscious by nine at night when he goes to sleep.

She doesn't say anything to the man who greets them – he's tall, scruffy around the edges but he has a kind smile when he looks at them, and a knowing gaze that makes her think he's been in the same boat. She called ahead so he knows what she needs, and he leads her around back – past the domes of Angels, hundreds of them, all peering and chirping with curious looks and white-flashed gazes, and into the confines of the Demon facility. There are five long cabins made of steel and wood, and he tells her each one holds twenty five rooms that hold three Demons each – usually the mother, the father and the offspring of the year. If she wants to search for older, unmated Demons, she needs to try the sixth bunkhouse, which is pure brick and looks far warmer than the rest of them.

She takes Azazel there first. She knows that Demons will live forever if it suits them, and so age isn't a factor, but Azazel doesn't like the look of many of them, and the ones that he does don't seem to like him back, so she doesn't choose any of them.

They go to the Nesting Bunks. The first is fruitless – the mothers all hiss and cover their offspring and the fathers growl in annoyance at being disturbed, and the kids wail and whine for their parents, even the ones old enough to be weaned. These young are too small to be bought.

So they go to the second. Same thing – if they aren't too small then they're too aggressive, thrashing at the wire meshing of their cages and Azazel shies away, frightened by all the black eyes, but his family has had Demons for a very long time – until his mother's was killed trying to save the family in a car accident – and he knows to trust them better than Angels. That's why they're here.

The third is the most promising. The young are slightly older, here. Old enough to be calm after the initial panic of birth and nursing. The fathers have been moved away by this point, because there's no point in keeping the males around if they're going to prove damaging to the young, and if they find a kid too dominant or aggressive they will kill them out of some misguided sense of self-preservation. The mothers are sprawled lazily in the sun, purring as their children roam around their sparse but spacious rooms, and their eyes flicker black at the passing humans in curiosity, but they pay them no more heed than that.

She meets one other family there with their daughter, just in time to see the little girl point to a small female Demon, who purrs and approaches. The Demon looks to be about fifteen in human years, but could be anywhere from a week to ten years old, and her hair is long and brown and hangs down her back. She wears jeans cut off above the knee and a light blue tank top, and her fingers curl through the wire meshing to touch the girl. The human child leans forward, and it's enough for the Demon to catch some of her long blonde hair in her mouth and pull, smiling, playful, and the girl giggles and nods to her parents.

The man that greeted them is called moments later, and lets the Demon out, and the Demon immediately scoots over to the little girl's side, purring all the while as she curls around her feet like a contented cat, letting the girl stroke through her hair as she crouches down, almost at eye level like that, and nips at her hair again.

"What are you gonna call her, Jess?" her father asks, and the little girl considers for a moment before answering 'Ruby'. And the Demon purrs again, mewling at the new name, and then they kiss – a light peck on the lips, and it's enough to seal the contract and Bobby takes the family with their new purchase away to sign papers and deal with the human legalities.

They move onto the fourth bunk, and that's where Azazel sees him.

She's not sure what happened; perhaps the mother rejected her young one or the father was a little too rough before being taken away, but the kid looks frail and sick. He's curled up, looking a little tall for his years – maybe a few months old – and in a corner, shaking from the cold because the heating is broken in this bunk, and Bobby hasn't gotten around to fixing it yet. Usually that's not much of a problem as Demons will curl together to share warmth, but not when the only thing to get warmth from is hissing at the kid like it's the spawn of Satan himself.

Azazel kneels down, and the door is right next to where the Demon has balled himself up, and raps on the wooden floor, drawing the occupants' attention. The mother hisses slightly, withdrawing more into the shadows, eyes flat black, but the kid lifts his head – full of a mop of shaggy brown hair – and blinks at the mother and her son, his eyes a curious shade of hazel and green, black around the edge like he can't figure out how to fully lift that filter.

Azazel does it again, tapping his knuckles against the hard wood of the floor, and the Demon child mewls lightly, uncurling slightly more until he's on all fours, crouched a little and leaning forward. His hands splay for balance and he inhales, curious because he's never seen a human before, doesn't quite know what to make of them, but it's more welcoming that his mother so he takes his chances.

The Demon child crawls to the edge of the door, just out of reach of her son's questing fingers, inhaling sharply before he opens his mouth and bites down at the end of Azazel's finger. His teeth are sheathed behind his lips so he doesn't cut, but the surprise of it causes Azazel to cry out, and the Demon immediately jumps away, alarmed by it.

She crouches down, checking for damage, but there's nothing wrong, so she says nothing, and Azazel goes right back and does it again. She's about to tell him not to, to say he should have learned from the first time, but the protest dies when, instead of biting him again, the Demon licks at her son's hand, sniffing for blood, mewling in apology as he nuzzles into Azazel's flexing grip, purring when he gets scratched behind the ears.

"There you go," Azazel says, talking like he's seen mothers do to their babies, and other people do to their pets. "That's it. Feels good, yeah?" And he makes a sound in the back of his throat, mimicking the Demon's purr and the kid blinks, eyes flickering black before fully clearing, and purrs right back. "There you go, Sammy…"

She's surprised at the name. "Why Sammy?" she asks.

Azazel just shrugs. "That's what he says his name is. It's Sam, really, but I like Sammy," he replies, and Sam mewls lightly again.

She smiles, and doesn't wait; she calls Bobby. After all, her son's already named it, and she remembers when she first had Meg. It had happened in much the same way – it just does when Demons find the right human quickly.

They pull Sam out of the chamber when Bobby unlocks it, and Sam presses into Azazel's side and lightly presses his lips to the human's, and it's done. She signs, Azazel signs, and they fit Sam out for the collar that will go around his neck and bind him to Azazel for the rest of Azazel's natural life.

Only it doesn't work like that. Sam refuses to be collared, eyes flashing black, head tossing as he hisses like the thing is trying to attack him, and she thinks that yes, Sam will be a good defender of her son. Azazel eventually has to calm him down by petting his hair, scratching behind his ears and Bobby suggests a wristband instead. It works like a charm.

Sam is not happy when he discovers the reason for Azazel's injured arm. In fact, he almost outright attacks Azazel's father when he comes home that night. When he does, and heads to his son's room, he goes in with the intent of showing his boy how stupid it is to leave a skateboard out where anyone can just trip over it, and why didn't he mow the lawn today? Only he can't, because there's a Demon in his son's room and it's hissing and snarling at him, and even drunk he knows better than to tangle with a Demon – especially when he's drunk, and he'll just shoot the damned thing in the morning.

He goes to find his wife, because he knows exactly who bought that Demon for his son, but she's not there, because Azazel has a new protector now – a better one – and she's no longer needed. She stopped breathing around two thirty in the morning.

Azazel's father doesn't even bury her.

A Demon seals its ownership with a kiss. A kiss shares souls, and to have a soul-deep bond is a powerful thing. Sam won't fully mature until he's been on the Earth for ten human years, regardless of how old he actually looks. That means Azazel will be eighteen by the time Sam realizes what a full commitment he's made to this human.

Sam kisses Azazel when the boy is fourteen years old.

Azazel's father is in a drunken rage – it's the anniversary of his wife's death, and the new broad he brought home not six weeks later has gotten him addicted to harder stuff than alcohol, and it screws with his brain worse than Ol' Jack ever did, and he beats Azazel. Good Lord, does he do a number on the boy, and Sam has to wait and watch passively, because the boy begs him not to fight back, not to do what he was bought to do, and so Sam doesn't – he lies in Azazel's room and waits for the boy to hobble back into his bed, where he'll lick his wounds like an injured dog and keep the boy safe at night. Or he'll find Azazel at the bottom of the stairs, too weak to get all the way up, and he'll feed him juice and sugary foods and staunch the bleeding and bind the broken or chipped bones, and carry him upstairs with painkillers to send him to bed, Sam's gentle purring lulling him to sleep.

But it's broad daylight now, and Sam is almost seven and he's tired of watching. He's tired of looking on from the sidelines as his Master gets hurt and beaten by his father while that bitch of a stepmother looks on and laughs and raises the bottle in encouragement. Azazel's father never sees him coming and it's the last thing he never sees.

Sam goes for the bitch next. She screams and runs and she's fast on those seven-inch dominatrix boots, but Sam is a Demon and Demons can _run _when they need to, and he takes her down right as she hits the top of the stairs. They both go rolling in a mix of whimpers and growls and when they land her neck is snapped, her eyes glazed and heavy with running mascara, blurred from tears of fright. Azazel stands at the top of the stairs, face set in a vague mix of shock and horror, and that is when Sam speaks to him directly for the first time since he was bought – the second time ever.

_You're safe, now, _the Demon murmurs, climbing off the broken whore's body and up the stairs with feline grace, until he's kneeling on the step directly below where Azazel is standing, and just staring at him. _I've kept you safe._

And he's just a pet, Azazel tells himself. Sam is just a highly intelligent guard dog, and now he's begging for approval like a guard dog – _Look, Master, I just chewed this dummy up. Treats now? _ But he's _not, _and Azazel knows that, because no pet would have known the exact right angle to snap a person's neck and make it look like an accident. No pet would have been able to smash a bottle over someone's head and stab them with the sharp end in the perfect way, staging the scene in the perfect way to make it look like the whore did it, but Sam _did, _and he _knows, _and Azazel has never felt safer, in this house with two rotting bodies and a Demon who's staring at him like he's very satisfied with himself, now.

Azazel doesn't want to praise Sam, because this kind of behavior will land them in jail, or lethal injection, but he does raise a shaking hand to scratch behind Sam's ear and the Demon leans into the touch, his eyes returning to hazel as he purrs, a rumble deep in his chest, and Azazel manages to choke out a "Let's go, Sammy."

They run. They don't know where but Sam seems to have an understanding of who they're trying to avoid – police, people Azazel knows or who will recognize him. They end up going to a man named Nick's house, who takes them in because after the death of his wife and daughter, he has the room. Azazel would be nervous but he has Sam and Sam has always kept him safe – will always keep him safe.

That night Sam turns to him, having turned off the light and made sure Azazel is safe in his room with a locked door and shut windows, and he's about to curl up at the end of the bed, as he does every night, but Azazel calls him up so that they're just sitting, staring at each other, pillowed by pillows against the headboard, and there's silence because Demons don't talk and Azazel thinks that maybe he doesn't have to say anything, this time.

He thinks maybe Sam just knows.

He leans forward, and Sam blinks and meets him, and the first press of their lips together is tentative, chaste. Azazel has no idea what he's doing, because he's never seen his parents kiss and he has only the vague idea of what to do, but Sam is patient and just as naïve, so he figures he can't screw up that badly. He parts his lips and Sam mirrors him, sliding his tongue effortlessly against Azazel's, and something locks into place. Sam's wristband glows. His eyes slide into black underneath his eyelids, and Azazel's mind becomes infused with the texture of warm sand, and it's gentle and comforting, and he thinks he hears a word, repeated over and over in Sam's 'voice', but he doesn't know what it means. It's in a language he doesn't understand.

When they pull away he's breathless, resting his forehead against that of his Demon's, and Sam nuzzles into him, smiling in a way that lights up his face, and thinks; _Mine. _Sam repeats that word again in his Latin-Enochian native tongue and then lightly nudges against Azazel's forehead. The sensation of warm sand that already Azazel is beginning to associate with his Demon returns and Sam's purr lulls him into dreamland, where he's on a beach and the sun is shining and the waves are high and blue.

Azazel thinks he might be able to love Sam, in the same way husbands love their wives. Or the way they should, anyway, but Sam is a Demon, and he's just a pet. Even if that wasn't essentially bestiality, he doesn't think it would be fair for either of them, that he would expect what Sam can't give and Sam would never be able to just…be a Demon, for a while. So he dates, and when Sam fully matures he puts him up for breeding and when Azazel turns eighteen he goes off to college, making enough money to do so by working the late shift at a restaurant and from Sam's stud fee.

He meets Alistair in his second year and moves in. Sam doesn't like him, at first. He's aggressive, and jumpy, and doesn't quite understand what Alistair does to his Master every night even though during the day he essentially does the same thing. It's different when you can feel it too and you're not sure if you like it or not.

But Alistair is good for his Master and Azazel laughs and smiles and he glows more often than not around the man, and Alistair is dominant with Sam and lets him know his place. The hierarchy gets established quickly and almost so quietly no one notices, but Azazel has always been Sam's first and Sam doesn't really share that well.

Then Alistair gets Dean. And, well, that's a whole other story.


End file.
